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Memory lives in bones, I’d say: it’s the marrow of it. Once there was a woman made of leather; old, ancient, like the blood of my...

On the sand dune high above the ocean like a gull, swooping and riding the current sweeping over everything I sit and watch the...

1. They no longer call the mustangs wild.  Centuries isn’t long enough for the land to be called home; I thought then, how can we call...

What is human? Human is everything it is not: artificial machine laboratory manufactured bacteria-free things like that. Really...