The abyss encompasses all us and our. Collectively blooming a radiance of. We have a certainty about. Thriving on the pantomime yet. Promises that smell like fish oil and weed smoke in. Niagara bursts of starch. Stuck here now, stuck. T-shirts ironed over and over. The routine of a drone camera that spies on residences. One-eye open toward the window every night. Looking for that tiny red light by the lens. Brand name underground: LeonLS. Mustering up videos for $50 a pop. Digital, but still sounds like a basement website. The Antifur collective laboratory on the strike. Paranoia yourself adrift, as there’s No Sleep In Paradise:
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