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  • Hard to walk through this ocean of grief, hatred, loneliness. And love, affection. Eternal? Always floating.
    From the top of the trees, through microscopic raindrops, then to the livid sky and almost fading away closer to the pale rays.
    Down again, face splattered on humus, smelling the flames of hell through stones and roots.
    We live in Oxymoron. It makes our cheeks red of joy, or embarassement, or anger.

    Rowing in a red desert.
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