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11:36am 23/05/2011
Mister Nihil
As we are currently intra-apocalypse, I will give you a kind word to see you through until not the next Christmas, but the next after, when the Mayan calendar turns over to zeroes, and their computers mostly short out or something.

I keep a little journal. In it, I wrote this tiny poem, likely between other tasks.

Turn Your Leaden Thoughts To Gold

She's baiting bears and burning up highway,
Her underground reality casts shadows on his fear,
A crew-cut Samson fills the doorway.
mood: Poemic
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(no subject)
04:45pm 23/05/2011 (UTC)
Mister Nihil
That seems like it may not be sunny. Hm. I read a sort of liberation note into it, but now that I see it in print, that may be less the case.
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(no subject)
03:59pm 28/05/2011 (UTC)
I really like the last line in particular. Not yet sure why.
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