But how can art keep us alive when it cannot kill us?
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Toothache :)
I want to write an ugly poem about it that is fully artificial a temporary edifice in broken verse I want to reinvent every word to prey and rape the makers of my pain I want to kill the little man who reads the pain to me turn off his sound and wait and see ...
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On people who live on in our dreams
I dreamt that the late British American public intellectual Christopher Hitchens was walking next to me. He was bald, like in the last months of his life when he underwent chemotherapy, but appeared in excellent health and was obviously not aware of his impending death. The image was so vivid that I could see the ...
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