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This is not a thesis of trying to mine a singular understanding, but a collecti(ion)(ve) body of research composed into a gesture. Other than my memories, I have only grazed the surface of the topics I will discuss (even then, memories are at the fragile grace of synaptic connections) There are holes here, tears that will take a lifetime to mend. As I will mention later, I am not interested in a singular whole. Holes, however, are curious places with a warm spot for happenings, so I am okay with the holes. All patchworks are several and my obsession with their cobbled nature does not mean there are no moments of stillness and clarity. This work is an archive of the muddiness of being and I invite you to draw parallels with your own logic as you stumble through this patchy, leaky, weed forest.
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