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1 t H e f l U t e s o f t H e D J i N N i don’t know, djinn, how much you remember but i know you measure the sahara’s sands, wear stars on your fingers and remember that once on Third avenue an old man freed you and asked nothing. you studied him a long time before you left to make sure he understood the consequences. He did. and then he left, and somewhere a child was born wearing them on his face. How do their flutes in the tuareg night summon us to the secrets of the djinn, and how does the sexual electric of stars wake us to the meanness of our wishes? i think hearing is easier than seeing them thanks to our brushes with the vast. abhor the misshapenness of words and make this gnosis your heart: everything is a facet of the same jewel. ...

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