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Rotting Walls

I saw two young students lose their minds at Occupy. One came naked in the night, December mind you, running about screaming. This student, in a fit, threw paint everywhere, which I made into a painting as a method of coping. The painting was actually taken from me the day UCPD broke down encampment. It meant the world to me, and I would very much appreciate it back someday. I can only hope that it went in the trash because if it is on someone’s wall somewhere, you owe it to me to give it back. It was a work in progress, an important one, that I can never finish. I can never come to terms with my own heartache without finishing this project. I was collecting stories about it which I had intended to turn into poetry.

The other  student had a bad case of ideology. He was convinced…

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