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PGN

January 8, 2014

Sometimes, of an evening, I place the cactus before the lamp and admire the delicate network of capillaries within. As I draw nearer or farther, some way or other, I convince myself that the naked eye can trace those passages into the most infinitesimal detail, to the point of being able to follow the water’s languid displacement from minute to minute. It is only with the passage of time that I come to my senses and remark that all to be found beneath the cactus flesh proves the dark, indeterminate column at its center, running from top to bottom and resisting my gaze at every point.

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