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a black river beyond the last houses runs through its concrete bed 
          without a purpose. i hate this river...this place is just a copy of 
          the once open stream cleaning the rest of a mistake.
 i consume and adjust huge lists, because it's a moral high 
        which lasts a few months and outside the night spreads the graphic means 
        of the city, inscriptions on doors and displays and signs and warnings 
        and flashlights and colourful windows stained with an electric flicker 
        from channel13. i'm at the center of it, right in between the viewer's 
        eyes on a more elaborate display, new clusters of images, words, frames, 
        and figures. |  |  |