Bulletin BoardFrancis Raven
Pasted papers on the lumpy wall. share all we have not done with the people whose shadows we dream of climbing. All of our cherished crumpled papers fall under the sweaty waterfall of wine. The television gets wet and electrocutes our ability to extend our personalities. The objects I hold know my name, but I do not even know if they exist. I do not even know if an absence is holding my presence.
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