nostalgia will kill me, eventually... & my supposedlyharmless dabbling in voyeurism will leave me gushingallabout, frustration frothing and a bit choked up with jealousy. & if that doesnt do it, it will be these thick layers in a slow inward fold until the knees lock & the body's a crumpled ball, a slowmoving verb, stock-still
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i have been meaning to make another. maybe we could trade.
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except my whole zine might be a bit redundant having read my pseudo-poetics here on livejournal. but i started working on it...
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