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July 23, 2015
The remnants, as we were, construe faces that rise from an ash we keep in the back room for reasons not known; kept, not for mere habit, but for needs not known, not revealed until they had to be known, this being the nature of things vital to who we are, as we become who we are in the becoming, the ever moving moment, the sliding point that has no dimension but a movement forward into the future, our present being but a tripped shutter, then clicked away into the past, our reality being but faces in a photo album.