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Which brings about a beautiful idea –
in history there is always someone
and there is what someone has made:
a polder
of half-scale kitchen chairs and used file folders
and research as pleasure. This slight revolt 
distributes itself froth-like over the 
social surface, and it is large enough
to hold everything. It is the liberation 
of matter. What does that look like? I want
to know too, but I think it’s not 

I dream of escaping running into the cornfield.
Inside the cornfield I find tiny battered civilizations.
They give me something to do.