It is a grim picture - the random dots and loops of failure, those little patterns of black and white that cover our sight at times like this. This is the built environment, the place we have made for ourself amongst all the reality that falls in on us before we sleep. The world is comfortable here and yet the depression gets us in the end, drags us down like dogs at a fawn, has us bleeding and breathless in the dying light, leaves us to the night. That grimace hangs over us in curtains of light, aurora brought to earth.
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