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1913issue6online

90 when questions are statements. Idiom and underworld slang. Ultimately, it’s going to be your conception of every other pair of human eyes. Digital, dissipating. What is it we have come to this place to find? An aching thirst that does not go away. I select carefully which objects to temporarily imbue with power. It sours over the course of a week, but this is a choice. Invoking hyperbole saves a lot of time, but we feel cheated out of nuance. Why flinch? I type the phrase I can’t stand up re- peatedly. Yes in chains but impossible to degrade. Insert any combination of words into a recognizable frame of utterance. A portrait of what’s appropriate in any given era. It’s easy enough to locate brutality. Split and left dripping. Remaining spirited. The light divulges its unquantifiable wealth. I pass a condemned building and find its glassless windows erotic. It is going. The more I said the more the small animal starved. To arrive not knowing how one did, never to know this, not really.When the promise fades only the politics remain. Distances amounting to an obfuscation of the music. Language the cramped apartment man sleeps through the cold night in. Our cold night in the weather of one another. I have failed to believe I exist, as in there are consequences. Not all of this writing needs to seem unique or adventurous. The ventur- ing may never happen if it does not happen first in language. New ghosts were manufactured nightly, their responsibilities disclosed by the illegible remnants of the events that produced them. -Jeremey Hoevenaar

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