Just Clearing My Head

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Thursday, December 02, 2004

A Thief Of Culture.

A small amount of that robber baron blood mingling with the calm today; just enough to make me feel alive in my bones, not enough to induce the fight or flight mechanism. [And I hope that I have gotten beyond that type of capriciousness.]

Ah! J'en ai trop!

I find my inspiration this morning in the brown and black streaks of the leafless branches, cracking through the unusually blue autumn sky like finger bones, reaching out. Cette inspiration prouve que j'ai rêvé! Driving home last night I was struck by the wisdom contained within Thom Yorke's lyrics. Perhaps I am tired this morning, and my writing does not convey the proper amount of magic, the elusive pulsing, the nacreous something that reminds you what it is to be alive. This I feel deeply within me.

For rumination: Anne is one of the hardest working people I know. I hope against hope that one day this crazy boss-lady will give her the props she deserves. Mon innocence m'inciterait à pleurer. As for me, I most of the time have no idea what I'm doing here. So I do what I can. A lesson to be carried into other aspects of life, as well, I think.

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