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Bug wondered if any part of him, any itty-bitty projection of his future self, had objected to the goings-on during the fall and wished to rewind in midair.
Carnivore gardens, Cannibal gardens, Gardens of pleasure
In my dance, I host ghosts, their multi-headed presence, their sounding breath coming out of their numerous mouths. I befriend the strange, and the otherness becomes my condition.
Imagine falling asleep whenever and wherever – this is love, I think, this is freedom.
