It was a large room, full of people, all kinds.
And they had all arrived at the same building at more or less the same time.
And they were all free.
And they were all asking themselves the same question:
What is behind that curtain?
it's shit after all
but from now on
we mean to shit in assorted colors
poesía tiene que salir del libro, debe ocupar las calles
...only the very poor, or the very eccentric, can
surround themselves with shapes of elegance (soon to be
demolished) in which they are forced by poverty to move with leisurely
grace. We remain alert so as not to get run down, but it
turns out you only have to hop a few feet, to one side, and the whole huge
machinery rolls by, not seeing you at all.
aphexious @ gmail
papermail is good too.