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January 24, 2011
You feel it coming down the hall, a rhythm generating the cool anti-love drill rising...a fluid-like friend made for the energy reserved to the end of the frank sense of beingness, crawled out the fissure in the convenient brain vat...singled out in a passion not to be undone for its quality of nothing, you suck it up, has a brave taste, feels like a ghost of swim class your mother made you take every week for a year at a local YMCA...ya, the watusi is the place of eternal space, no matter how swing it.