The ∞, 45
Erosion. The world wears. By the surface. Strata less tenable friable stone no longer support the ongoing clashes or shocks. We did not finish, we do not end up never to get out of this hell, going down to the limbo of this confinement and escape, and this world choked, and choking this, we never finish, no hope we will never again, and there will be nothing else to do, once they reach the bottom, if we do, watch the slow consumption of a cigarette smoldering on the moist soil of the night, before the heavy finish does not overwrite it.
What is complicated, certainly, is to determine what mechanism produces on us the most intense wear. One must imagine
Walker Evans, American pierced pain of the Great Depression, leaning toward the ground, bent, no doubt, and collecting the smallest details of a world scale, looking in the asphalt and bitumen the heat intense summer made it almost glow, almost viscous, possible traces of a passage, and defeated the strands of our business, and achieving one of its most incredible shots of silent for a moment that overwhelmed won . And looked toward the ground, staring into the footprints useless and idle, to shrink from this world full of rebuffs him, like all others, received the full force, these traces in the dust fleeting impression that alone would transmit a steady hand and yet, beyond huge day, comes onto our retina.
Plots uprooted from our visit to the world, that as much as it disintegrates and crumbles under the ninety-six clashes that each of our parts will impose, in turn, requires us to insidious and persistent destruction. Our mark is not certainly in the loose soil after rain, which supports our work imperfectly, but the trace of our presence there will be kept longer than necessary to bring a new storm, even more ruthless than the last. We bow down a bit in the rain, by a reflex bad I can not explain. Cons brambles which are gradually invading the way, some of our coat pulls, discards, and the tiny bit of material that is removed we will find its place on the asphalt shining a desperate shot by Walker Evans.
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