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March 21, 2013
Sent in the midst of a storm without precedent, your spirit flung itself through the fires we sparked in the museum of past regrets, then came the middle blooming in the tangle of the end and beginning; we fired how we flew, and by the energy that could never be touched, the angelic and demonic, cold and hot, left and right, a masculine aperture of venom, untapped by the feminine exclusions, bled the time and rapturous music conspired to the Holy entanglement aroused indelicately by the words spoken so softly, yet deafening in terms of speaking at all only silence.