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25 COLD RAGS Where did everyone go? Enemies depress the air. Friends have gone home. What's left is comrades. If only these were not so remote, righteous, intimate as gossip in snow. If they would stop lying to themselves. Or if the lies warmed, were not wrinkled and stiff flapping at the skin. In such comrades a comrade could freeze to death, to death pushing this brilliant future, this communism, this human truth like a needle that has lost its thread. ...

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