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March 20, 2013
The dialogue is drifting off the island where the bomb exploded so deliciously in the midst of our funneling how we make time fold backwards by inverted kisses in the flesh machine devised and operated by everything and nothing, our extremes being the means for habitual denial of sharp demarcations of black and white, greys having sway in the decision process, however free we seem, the entrapment looms as the only reality, then comes the split, and the viable mechanisms of connection long lost in the fits of finding that can never be found are found again as never lost.