Inside closed eyes lies the canvas for day & night dreams: pools of milky black offset by the ghosting of blood vessels, nerves, and other assorted arithmetic patterns that point to a greater natural language. Faintly purple bursts fade to strawberry whorls. A fingerprint, a blot, a parade of sunspots ( Read more... )

A selection of pages found on the floor of the local post office, 04.26.04

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