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All that was once directly lived has become mere representation– Guy Debord.

I want that radiogram, I want the record that they are listening to, I want my girlfriend to look this happy.
Maybe she is dreaming of a life away from this sterile home, away from her radiogram obsessed boyfriend and his difficult jazz?
She wants the wind in her hair, the sand between her toes and Yeh Yeh music…
Perhaps she is dreaming of Kartoshka?


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