The camp fire tales

It’s true, nothing tells you more about the state of things to come than the closing of another door, your face begins to show the mechanisms that used to work so long ago, your hands have had that tremble that your father used to know and that was also long ago. Each door that closes…

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Diamond shields and water pistols

You taught me to count and I counted the days, and the days mounted up and still I counted the days and I got old and tired and lost count of the days. I can start again, I can number the drops of rain that fall I can count them all, you taught me that…

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In the monastery

Going back through the archives, back through the tunnels of time over matter and memory, remember me? Is time a straight line? Is memory curved? Are the lines that I’ve swerved on and under observed in the order they were or are they randomly paced in the place where the archives reside? Who designs these…

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