dustinkuhns

1.5.32

“Either,” Evelyn answered, eyes closing in her blindfolded mind, both men now dancing on a scale, seesawing at the money changer’s booth out front of the temple doors, tables turning.

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What good is a clock when the sun burns on all night long?

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1.5.30

“Remember,” she said, thawing the frozen memories, “when we hiked up to that lake and skinny dipped in the snow melt, when our feet were cold and our noses even colder?”

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Opening and closing filing cabinets with a lovely furry thing, opening and closing again

interspatial geocaching:// background-music/ https://mysistersfugazishirt.bandcamp.com / https://mwkworks.com/desiderata.html / https://mronline.org/2009/12/27/questioning-capitalist-realism-an-interview-with-mark-fisher/ / https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hawksian_woman / https://www.popdust.com/sexualized-space-jam-popdust-opinion-2636041609.html / https://www.perell.com/blog/after-minimalism

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1.5.29

Evelyn sipped the coffee, neither hot nor strong, but hotter and stronger still than the sun vibrating the cool mountain breath where she and Mo sat, testing the waters of the alpine lake where they froze their feelings.

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1.5.28

“Knowing, feeling, head, tails, you can only bet the hand you’re dealt, twos, sevens, jacks or queens.”

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dahlia fae | ☹ sad jams ☹

I popped off across the tape of another cassette at pacific plaza. Typically, I’d jump at the chance to wade fully clothed into the morass at the edge of lake melancholia. I wasn’t wholly in it but I went anyway, primarily feeling ornery. The inverted plateaus tiered and collecting below each sad enjambment. All was

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