I always get myself into completely absurd situations; an old habit of circling the fringes of expectation, elongating arousal through deliberate chaos.
My new sejour is no exception.
The past month I have gone through my whole repetoire of emotion.
I feel more alive than I have in years.
There is winter rain here.
It's warm, and leaves craters in the snow.
A mist has been hovering in the city.
Morning until night there is only a soft white blur: no sun, no buildings;
pieces emerge only bit by bit, swallowed again with passing.
I am a vaccuum terrorist
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