from the outside, another's life is gaps, fragments and elisions
the intermittent flux of data
& we too are mysteries to ourselves our own lives also
fragments, gaps and elisions, long periods of unremembered texture
cut across with vivid or half-brilliant memories
returning to hit us depth-charges or bombs, & soft wash of green landscapes
such as when I thought I heard
Paloma laughing in the garden
]+>Cyborg
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