Monday, December 31, 2007

In places of fading,

and hyperized attention, noise, many faces melt into one giant. glob. like a drip of ropped sheep. fuck. we don't speak for we. And I's don't speak for we's. and this is all just another note linked to another story in an additional metaphor for pulsating cylcles which can't be stored or replaced stopped. suck.

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