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From the inside

A system of boxes. A stretch

and measure for doing this one

thing. Live. Then all the other

fake measures; the misleading

ones that totter along to the

same end with variant degrees


of pain.


Thereís a space by the exceptional

and itís vacant. I donít know

which box Iíll jump into next.


The boxes.

I keep avoiding them. Though

Iím sitting in one: the one that

keeps avoiding, fighting for that

exceptional space that is just a




and nothing more.


Nothing exceptional.

Neither vacant nor spacious

Where is the way out?