Poached on the edge.

October 17, 2008
in Category: Noise poem
0 2441 0

Poached on the edge of a black hole, the black whole, consider the relative relationship between time and money, it might seem obvious. Is this what it feels like? An exponential change in the range of reckoning, a dimensional shift through the mist of mystery, a conundrum of constants of old becoming variables anew and what we thought we knew, becomes obscure like a flaw, like the edge of the world before?


Cassette concepts connoisseur

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