Der Rechte Weg

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Three starsTwo stars

First saw it at the Pompidou, Paris; abreast one of those dippy basketball fishtanks of Koon’s, my first lover by my side, drunk on my early 20’s and travel.

Later on, I “owned” it, as a file in a folder or deep in the folds of an internet I never bothered to comprehend, some proto-icloud; already two laptops back.

Most recently I identified it in a bar, San Fransisco, while a home-girl’s new guy bought more rounds and told tales of incalcuable violence.

I always liked it.  A bear and a rat climb the alps and look down at stewing banks of nimbus.  I am totes the bear.  Or maybe, the rat.

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