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                               Don't have to hold my hand

                                                                                                                  Just walk with me tonight 

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

10:25 PM - I envy you.

But such a thing is not meant to last.

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Wednesday, April 7, 2010

3:09 PM - Forever

A poet must be a psychologist, but a secret one: he should know and feel the roots of phenomena but present only the phenomena themselves in full bloom or as they fade away.
Ivan Turgenev

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Tuesday, June 30, 2009

8:00 AM - I don't post

And you're gonna like it


superpoop.com
superpoop.com

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Friday, February 27, 2009

8:14 PM - Giggles

toothpaste for dinner
toothpastefordinner.com

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Friday, February 13, 2009

5:25 PM - New and Hilarious Web Comic

E-merl.com





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Monday, January 19, 2009

12:54 AM - Nonsense

It is not the absence of thoughts, but of words. And then not of words, but of profundity. For no word is profound enough even to probe the depth of understanding. "Show me a man who has forgotten the words so that I may speak with him."

I learn of time and space, and the marriage and wholeness of both, but have little in the way of understanding my own to them. What is this mortal coil that grows and springs to collapse again? What is its place in things that are, were and will be, but to identify the indefinable "now"?

As space is whole, so is time, and the marriage. To begin; to end; to be is a luxury; an illusion; a partiality that yields itself to the all-ness eternally.

Poetry is to will and toil by day, to go about a path and then to rest beside it when night falls. To see what is before you, what lies behind, and how the stars turn and kiss you by their light, that light that began its journey before you, and after, and during.

There are no words. And this is my silence. To say nothing! The luxury! The illusion!

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Sunday, December 14, 2008

10:55 PM - Report Home 23 - Fambly

Long overdue.

www.youtube.com/fletchyfletch


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