on a bus, and seeing the mind inside each of these people. pearls among oyster-slime. a lady who smells. a man with a book. a kid looking somewhat uncomfortable. the cone of thought backward, expanding all colours and size – infinite large in shape and not knowing collision. thought in there. there’s so much person […]
and life in some town in the countryside is nothing to this: waking each morning with my wide open window, and trucks beating jazz drums on the street underneath. bins being emptied. people walking on pavements steady-pacing one direction ever downward – like a river by a logging camp sending pine toward the sea. drinking […]
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