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Their idleness, aimless and languid airs.

penny wiser than art can unmake

Wednesday, January 28, 2004

It has come to pass that men live in the imperative of the future passive participle- in the "what ought to be" but when one portrays the courage of fools and embarks on impossible risks, it is perhaps all too well he truimphs or slips; you will know that he lives. What impoverished dreams bind us, what inane hope floats when one no longer holds fast to his youth? Let us be pensive; let only the love for living deter us from doubt; let us be children twice over.

*Having cultivated in me an appreciation for the classics I took it that there would never be too much of a good thing but even Bach waters down. Even Haydn makes one ill.

seastreet  # 1:04:00 AM

Monday, January 19, 2004

"On days fraught with stillborn regret one is heartened by the acquired taste for saltwater freedom because of flotsam and driftwood there is little chance should any touch the shore so I bid you well and speed until I see you again some fateful day later."

* A month into things and your senses still work for me.
seastreet  # 6:28:00 PM

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