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what my tongue may not navigate pours out of me in sweat or swear words who neither much improve my position at all. and laughing only makes me look like some kind of asshole...worse things have happened to impersonators, and, afterall the work does not do itself (wait & wait) and we, so, then, lump ourselves in with however many others it takes to assuage the grief of what it means, finally, being human as the sun is coming up again and again, even though, you know, the end and all. what mystery cannot sate i havent yet met & hangers on look forward with the same kind of hopelessness as Pavlov's dogs. Post a comment in response: |
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