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11 Dementia Praecox Not the ding an sich, but the orange dinghy we arrived in nursing the wounded one back into whatever hell the trip had created in us, Bobby with his flamethrower hair, Penny with her caustic wit and now and then a glimmer of a structure would give power to our faces, or a drunk old statue. It means, essentially, cleaving coming in and cans revolving, etc., I think in every ocean is a revolution, as he says, no one sure he’s not just saying it or where the thought is coming from, the tongue on the water where we rest or just another of the shiverers blurred like an island and strung out without clear purpose. ...

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