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A paradise of calm and inattentive waters, overlain in mountains of far away trees and mindless flying birds. That so much plain nothingness is so sought-after in far reaches of the world attests to some innate nature to squeltch civilization. A resort, where I’m staying, is a petri dish of cultural habits, against nature.
It seems to say: this shape, this color, and these mannerisms are lord over this land, and what can you do about it? The settlers have arrived. I yearn for cheesiness, the fortitude of innocence, the shaggy brow; wrinkles.

Text by S. Lorenzo