Foreign. Philosophy.


Ultraviolence - Melbourne
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speedpaint 2014 02 23 by torvenius


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It was as though the most he could do lately was remember dreams. Faces had begun to blur and words would evaporate like the moisture expelled from so many mouths around him.

Finally, everyone’s masks had fallen and all the vibrations that had previously been kept inside began to reach out to him. They collided with fatty cheek bones, stretched on the bony shoulders of a woman he’d dreamed of, and come to embrace him as he shook, resisting their momentum. They spilled about him as if oceans were undulating through him, beyond his will. They called him, thrumming like the loosed bows of ancient armies.

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If you are not thankful then I don’t know what you are.

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