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February 17, 2010 - 6:42 Pack a bag with quivering hands, a neck that quivers more. Lateral, with stop motion pace. Head pecking in opposition. Horror, absolute horror at what this feels, how it sees. Now vomit. And realize in the Salt Lake airport that you have actually packed almost nothing. No undergarments. Only semi-formal dresses and not enough stockings to provide them. The mottling of this death mask haunts me, more, more. It is not a memory, is specter. Freckles on any innocent face, send me a shriek, a sheer daymare. I will lose my life. My hair, my love. My love my love.
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