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. i'm reading a book on something i recall - foul weather. you're going she says. a pigeonhole mood with removed contrasts - abstract, like the scarred and marked stones of houses.

. i'm here, made from pieces of wood and made up a name for her. burned my lungs inhaling scent #7 --- then i remember her vivid eyes. we would add the correct distance, sat, went mental and talked, allowed the time, and i realised that when i do fall i should sleep, because it feels like surgery that runs its course.