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It is as if someone scheming in the dark set of the night, unscrewed my feet from the stalks of my legs and breathed black heat through the tunnel of my body, expanding and permeating in the cave of my soul.
a presence inspired by the production of perpetual passion. or perhaps vice versa. processual prose for the preservation of captivating moments. memory must exist to exist. i capture moments to make it so. "claudelean are you awake?" always. "if you could have one wish what would it be?" for an instant to forget my body. with a mind of material, i attempt to write out what is within. it helps me forget my body to make matter.
you should see the stereogum.com mp3 player here if you have flash
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