Critical, creative and digital writingEcriture critique, créative et numérique

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The sounds of life escape my control and fly away each time I breathe. My words are fallen leaves that my voice then blows to liberty. This ineffable quality of sound-- that it would resist fixation-- is but the stuff of life though it gives frustration. My thoughts have now become clouds of meaning whose residual essence has become the firmament that my leaves aspire to as I respire. In this aerial dance, lines have formed a flag and my stream of thoughts has taken up with the wind