A meditation on one hundred and fifty years of becoming. How dare the morning arrive with such nonchalance, spilling its gold across the firmament as though a century and a half were merely yesterday, as though seventeen boys once gathered beneath an indifferent hoven and did not, in their unassuming beginning, inaugurate a dream too […]
A meditation on one hundred and fifty years of becoming. How dare the morning arrive with such nonchalance, spilling its gold across the firmament as though a century and a half were merely yesterday, as though seventeen boys once gathered beneath an indifferent hoven and did not, in their unassuming beginning, inaugurate a dream too […]
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