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I feel like Kierkegaard near the beginning of Either/Or: a playlist can be a perfumed bouquet…and one can interweave as much or as little intricacy as one wants into the artwork of encountering.

A house of cards? Not with my vibration of certainty. Or Foucault’s eye for and delight in detail – sometimes it’s like that: “one which exists only for oneself, just for that shortest little moment of life” – her elegance and slight infiltration of consciousness draws so much from me.

It’s fun to build castles in the sky…

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