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Circle, Square and Everyone Else
Circle rages at Square in nonsensical waves. “Oh”, she says, drawing fingers down the soft structures of her face, distorting, “I think that you...” pillars collapse in all directions! shrieks the author, boars tuskfuck slender white bodies in beds of sin! “I think you have...” eversoftly, retreating, she says – the light transforming her tears as Circle beats the lines of Square – hold on hold on – “you have forgotten me.”
He has not forgotten those battlements of sinew, bone and their fatty encasements but now it is a shape to him as empty as history. And Circle? She died on, died o Square and is now an empty shape turning on forever, the meaning quite lost. Let me frame it another way?
A paramedic vehicle rolls past playing loud euphoric trance. Police-constable wearing some kind of gauntlet backslaps a mouthy demonstrator (Square? Circle? Hope to hell so!) then restrains her further, slashing into her legs with his baton. The tuskfuck. She looked like she was enjoying it, Pandaro! Numbers obscured. Wrongresponses. The blogosphere bubbles with opinioning voices, Circles and Squares, their emotions waxing abstract and dangerous. Shapes in the gap! That’s it! Shapes as empty as history.
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