What Wordsworth called a diurnal urge we can merely know as a rhyming in out ears—a clamorous jangling reminder not to do that which will remind us not to listen to the reasons we tried not to listen in the first place.
. Dried pigment that no longer holds any responsibility for questions of causality or truth. Depending on the angle of vision, we will have to move the frame to accommodate the fullness of the unrelenting storm of history. This is the threat of the past. Details reach us in broken pieces. The totality of the unlicensed reproductions of these pictures fails. Beauty is an ugly thing.
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