i came to new york to "do" and "be", but to do and be fucking WHAT? tomorrow i will push my hands into the air and scratch the tarred concrete, though it is already tomorrow and i don't know how. my receiving generation and me. stuck behind observation windows looking in: my leg-step is anthropology, my lip-move is sociology. and every eyeblink, every penholding wrist flick is to create and push me into a world in which i do not exist anymore though i nonexist exist right now.
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