The Earth is neither round nor blue: it’s a cube, white, pierced through by a double door. In this cube, there are grottos of immaculate whiteness and paper unicorns that wander across the valleys, steep flour mountains and women carrying, with the same momentum, a god-armchair; and then there are barren expanses, deserts of absolute whiteness, punctuated by a few umbrellas and tripods in distress. No sun, no moon, no skies. Just a few lights, which come and go.
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