There are places time abandons, neither old nor new. This is the result of the law of averages. The future is an unrealized hour, vacant as the shoes of the dead, while the past reinvents itself, until it has disappeared. In a one-sided sleep, I sometimes dream a Mobius dream--nothing inside nor out. Wakefulness, a glitterning fuse, burns towards this moment until nothing happens, nor can. When eyed from certain angles, there is no such thing as now.
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