Let every

eye negotiate

for itself

Made out of glances. Sewn together from scraps. It has been a long time. Between you and them. On the inside. You want to say something. But what are the rules? Are there some?

Ssh.

Meredith Ciel, “Nuit Blanche” in Il n’ya pas de rapport intellectuelle [(trans. S. Parker) University of East London Press: London 2007] p. 8

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