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Mostly, the writing is a figuring out of things. A naturally occurring process which, when with interfered by my own confused and fearful intemperance, it is quickly understood that a necessary something is lost; A clear and perhaps sometimes simple – sometimes savage veracity, that retains yet a dimension of frightful grace and symmetry that I cannot tolerate yet for having no answer for as though one were needed, and the babel hides me well.


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