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July 6, 2015
We wait upon waiting till waiting can no longer abide itself waiting until the wait becomes something else without definition, and all becomes like a stasis in a jelly hung from nothing in a vast void; it hangs in the middle of one's eye, unseen but by the back looking gaze through dreams when nothing of matter construes itself, and all that lives to live construes the matters least seen in wakefulness, held by the hook of our hearts in a grip without form. Such is the death geared to its engine stuck on the plateau of no man's land.