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"I am in that place now and the garden around me is overgrown. Thornapple delights in this unkempt ground. The stink is all around. But with the flowers, bittersweet. This place where meaning has no meaning. Thousand hit wanderers flit from flower to flower. The frogs sing in the nights cool..."

open.substack.comThousands of Hits of NothingI dreamt an immense evil came up through the ground and flooded through time (both ways backward and forwards).

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