9 Hours and 28 Minutes Left.

July 7, 2012
Sand shared the space within my tights as faded the lights and stacked precariously were stones marked with every name that needed to be marked. I only threw one into the ocean but the paint rubbed off onto my hands and I left wet fingerprints of the message on every surface that I touched. I need to stop touching things.

Viewpointing is the only way I can develop my point of view. This is space. This is shape. This is artwork.

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