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On the run in Tasmania-
Just beyond the road the hills fall bare, the land is stark and blackened; only a few butchered man-ferns grow here. The diversity that flourishes in the buffer between this coup and the road, hiding the evidence of their greed from passing eyes, will never be regained...napalm is not just a thing of war. The paradise of old is now only that of imagination, with even the landscape of the mind beginning to crack and disappear, dissolving with the gradual crystallization in the world's mind of our current and accelerating reality.
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