THIS SHAMBALA GOES ON
Finish my enigma with a final,
last, push. The drawing pad is
disabled, and the pencil has no
point. I can't imagine anything
worse. I feel as if the sky is
falling on my head.
-
Now we make a wake by
simply walking along. Forms
and fleas and fragments. There's
a filtered light coming down
from the sky and I can't place
the forms it makes.
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