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Vincent Arnheim
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www.melro.net
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Why X Travels Around the Axis – Part VI
Our
hands locked once again, gleaming droplets gathering on the windshield. Moon-soaked rain curtailed the dark. We leaned into our shared sigh. The road dived into the horizon, hazy-white beams crossing and curving in
pursuit.   Minute, fragmented conversa...

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Logos
They quietly gathered round the fire, in unison that transcended their custom. Oak trees bent over the circular clearing, mourning branches fed to the flames, half-pacified by an overarching consolation: these men would never re-animate their blood by growi...

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Seven Crescents
The
mimeograph waxes mournful in the trembling heat haze, while vacillating
counterparts quiver around the inmost cycle of solitude. The lunar phase mirrors
the waning positionality of the onlooker, half illuminated, her gibbous face grimaces
from the conse...

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Friedrich’s Tomb
For S.L.W. I. The concrete is porous, I heard. As is Time, You avowed two breaths later as if Your fate somehow co-inhabited the axioms. II. These haggard steps were perhaps birthed by the mountains a row of collapsing gravestones, tenderly guided uphill by...

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The Atemporal Bone of Dionysus
Wir mussen unsere Lebenswelt umsetzen. There is no Place that is not your Mirror: Else, you would not withdraw behind the Lines like a shrinking Insect. Would not fade like Reason’s tamed Echoes and ripple in hidden Waves through the String above the Face o...

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Why X Travels Around the Axis – Part V
Framing that dotted territory, irradiate specks anchoring the molecular chaos of scattered lanterns in a darkened park. Closer emerging, the trembling globe bawls blue, encased in ribbons of florescent jade, a rife organelle body, not yet architecture. Sens...

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The fountain was a signpost IV
The world spirit rides saddleless the weary horse beggared by vast journeys. Clad in nothing but tattered parchments and symbols of the new regime scattered about the surface of his glistening body basking in the brilliant sun and the primeval shine of crow...

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The fountain was a signpost III
He no longer perceives, senses … intuits, he figures – the anatomy of the world as such, stripped of content, texture, meat and fibre. A humbling gesture, akin to witnessing from a distance the crashing waves of shifting tectonic plates, Mythological paradi...

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The fountain was a signpost II
Night fails to provide disguise, half-drenched in moonlit showers. Pursuing the one good eye, guided  by opalescent rays reflected in the diaphanous bowl of immanence. He ventures a thought: What is the hidden difference between a flow and a step, a stream ...
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