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{resultant} adam fieled Creaks of memories, I had to be coherent to myself, imagery thick as marsh all around me, mental operations cocked with cordite in my mouth, time bandits, buffoons drowned me, no dream-maiden came to dissolve me free from black twists of red candy— I had to write because continuance is trickle-down economics of the soul— which means that I can't leave my room if I haven't already left it full-mooned— all this mayn't be resultant— |
