A Black Feather, A poison pen... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I'm so tired / I can't sleep Bartleby, staring at the view from the viewless window. Am I the forlorn scrivener, amongst my stacks of papers to be re-written to be copied and re-worked. In reverie by the window Or, Failing that (as it seems i do in all things, eventually) Am i one of the dead letters, waiting for the fire, sent but never received. 5:43 p.m. - 2003-07-06 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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