Thousand-mile stares are based on distance. Not a measurable distance, but one that is of memory. Like logging onto a network and becoming fully engrossed in compressed complicity of condensing data. Or blips of clouds within your mind that ring along into an infinite swan-song of bliss. Daniel Wyche provides us, Our Severed Sleep [Eh?86]. Spiraling out of sweat. Control and motor skills at a maximum of minimum. Gazing. Twitching. REM. Our Severed Sleep [Eh?86]:
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