The Longest Now

supersaturation’s sweaty susurrus

there’s nothing like a sticky morass of potentiality or the moist ambience of supersaturated reality to leave one in need of a shower.   sometimes it doesn’t even whisper as it passes.  it’s funny how the feeling is the same whether it’s the sweat of a hard slog or a dusty cloud.

what is the equivalent for arid vacuum?  movement there is often more sure; its danger can be thrilling; and it offers almost nothing.

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