fig.321 the gracious event Rather than giving in to any of it, Dada-Girl Patsy Cline aka, Patsy-Patsy Cline that Patsy Clone finishes reading the note before knowingly confronting this moments truth. It isn't Morocco after all and we're not in it together. This isn't Tangier, no one here will fucking die. Nothing is going to stop, the car is outside and winter has yet to take hold. Littered as it is with the robot's leavings and burnt flags of nowhere, the gallery is still churning. The basement continues to heave greatness onto the world's floor like it's a mouth, fowl with blindness. Hiccupping bile on the treads, the retreating kids are defiantly holding the distant corners of morning at bay while Dada-Girl Patsy Cline or, Patsy-Patsy Cline that Patsy Clone continues fighting fascism in the dust behind her shed. She uses her 50 cent pencil to hold the paper down, writing furiously, I will be free. Distance, or every mile towards the end is another one spent...