I’m not the girl who misses much ( pipilotti rist )
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I am moved by fancies that are curled Around these images, and cling: The notion of some infinitely gentle Infinitely suffering thing. Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh; The worlds revolve like ancient women Gathering fuel in vacant lots. Preludes (IV) T.S. Eliot http://tumview.inucara.net/id/ut.tumblr.com