A Black Feather, A poison pen...

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an exhalation and a wisp of smoke

Silences sometimes speak volumes.


realization dawns on me of never having been more than just a distraction, a way point on the path to something else.


should i be happy that these travelers seem to have got where they were going or should it bother me that i am never the destination.


I am nice to visit, but i guess i'm no place to stay.


the cartoon between films at an old-time double feature, good for a laugh or two, but not why anyone came to the show.

4:39 p.m. - 2003-04-29

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