Author: Fabien Vehlmann

There's a tea-party going on in a pink room somewhere.  Tea and cake are served.  What was in that tea and cake?  We're not sure.  The pink turns to gray.  Shouldn't it have started that way?  But where is here?  Is it where we hear?  Everything starts to melt, and fairies drip out of a functionless ear.  The maggots and nymphs start to chew, on the body of Christ-ine?  Naw, it's Aurora.

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She stares perpetually at the sky.  All day and all night.

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Death is everyplace—everywhere.

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Beauty is everyplace—everywhere.

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Everything lives, dies, and eats.

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We carry our homes inside us, and that includes turtles, my friend.  And for matter, it's never the “end.”  Reality and unreality are both reality.  It's all a broken cuckoo clock.  No creator and no plot.

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Everything is off, and off more than a bit.  Was this all an accidental deadly mushroom trip?

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