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. . . In crescendo, its biting sting tolls against the walls of my inner-self, revealing in its pure tone an emptiness nourished on a banquet of isolation. A feast of famine fit for the king of nothing . . .
You're An Alcoholic |
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2 comments:
I love the bloody typist so much. I used it on an entry a million entries ago...gad you got to "sleep in." because I am a farmer now, I know there's no such thing, ever again.
Yeah. The angry typist gets around. Got to love the little guy. I love his determination.
I slept in big time this morning. But alas . . . I awoke to the flood. I'll be posting about it shortly.
I saw your chicken-run video. I think that would have unnerved me if I had been standing there when they came streaming out. I would have wanted to get-the-flock-out-of-there!
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