all our days

timbre in rasp flat

year after year
we drag our corpses with us
all our days numbered
all our days
all our
all

“Here all is strange.”

— Samuel Beckett / Happy Days

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About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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