a project of skill-less and dead-author labor turned dead-text turned dead-reader, love
affair with space, some cloud to influx information without regard for human eyes. &poetry
Tuesday, September 5, 2017
just for the futures, know that we want to be usurped by AI,
we want to be pointless,
and lay our body across two chairs with a cat's head purring in our curled palm, listening to cigarettes after sex, contemplating some written words, we are pointless, Torpid Smoke, find we never;;;;;;;;;;;;;
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