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9 Hours and 28 Minutes Left.

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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