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There is something wrong with the heads / The affliction is never present / The heads could be haunted, or sick, or just tortured to death / I want to make an equivalency between unstoppable forces / The paint is skin. The paint acts as an effigy for skin / It is globbed, stretched, torn, scraped, dissolved, cracked, according to what is 'wrong' with it / The heads are solitary. They exist in a depopulated landscape. Illness and pain make us solipsistic / There is nothing communal in suffering / The only commonality bodies hold with each other is their physicality- I am focusing on their infinite hurtability / If you were assaulted by demons, or you were transferred from a holding cell via McCarran Airport in Nevada to a black site in Libya to be processed for HUMINTEL, I don't think there is any authority to which you could appeal / There is no authority to which you can appeal / William Burroughs thought that the explosion of an atomic bomb would annihilate the soul as well as the body.


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