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Tip! *64 copies limited edition* This aquarium of invisible interconnections doesn’t open by itself, nor does it close on its own. We are a mellifluous scream echoing in the void of a crowded room. Just as every gesture is collective, so is its loneliness. The ministry that tends to it is an organ of collective unconsciousness. The outside pervades us. We peek through a peephole. We are the singular perception of the absolute liminality of the scent of place. A bedroom, a living room for company…