Looky here. It’s all going in the wrong direction. Like a falling star. Like fiberglass. Like the gegenschein pinned on the tail of an autumn sky. You mooncalf. You nitwit. Maybe that’ll teach you to focus more on the body substance, the blurred outline filtering forward from the sepiaed depths of a former century. In this image, you can’t stop reflecting on the kinds of activities employed to take tumblers and cylinders apart. But there’s a shift in the infrastructure, oh-so-subtle, and the fallacy folds inward again. You itch to unlock the origami yet find your hands are gloved, the galaxy lulled. Just can the sturm und drang for once. You wastrel.
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