Sunday, March 24, 2013

Where one realizes that spy fantasies are grounded in real-life experience of running-as-fast-as-you-can, having identity bestowed upon you; retreating, retreating. A change of haircolour goes a long way, baby. Boxes, life is in boxes.

Where one realizes that this is but a battle of Enlightenment and Superstition

Where one grows larger within the box, the box unsuitable but a better catalog than streets (all streets are the same).

Where one's society exists corporeally, for this is the place: better to fit the orchard and the park, the birds diving into trees, subterranean stems.


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