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Visual essay: On pride
– FROM CLOSE TO THE KNIVES, BY DAVID WOJNAROWICZHE WAS WHISPERING BEHIND MY CLOSED EYLIDS. TIME HAD LOST ITS STROBIC BEAT AND ALL STRUCTURES OF MOVEMENT AND SENSATION AND TASTE AND SIGHT AND SOUND BECAME FRAGMENTED, SHIFTING AROUND LIKE PARTICLES IN LAKE WATER. I LOVE GETTING LOST LIKE THIS.
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