MASKING THE ID'S

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THE CUTTING EDGE

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The Paper, now separated from itself, the visions behind the halves move far away, the words for thoughts vanish like the thoughts themselves, and unsupported, the thin textures fall into the ink of being, and crumbled, become a black, fibrous mass of what may have been. The edge has severed two likenesses from one, and nothing remains of either but this clumping memory.                                  Dust to Dusk by Sampson-Carroll
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. . . . .GIOTTO'S COLLAR

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