Imagine a house, or just a square box of a building. But now it’s a shell, all bombed out washed up from ancestral dreamshores. I live there, froze, standing alone in a room studying the floor, holding a tool for capturing memories. My mind swims on the wind. It feels cool and slightly numbing. Anyway

Think of a thick blue cloud upside down, at sea level, gently encroaching upon and engulfing your aura, Yaura. You’re standing there memorizing settings, committing realities to memory, expecting… to be stained forever, tainted leather, flaking painted feather.                                                   Whatever


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