Despite the usual lack of sleep occasioned by early-morning doctors' appointments, I had a nice time meeting
a_reasonable_man at Widener Library and then it turned out the item for which I had requested reading room privileges was actually a mirage in the catalogue and the afternoon promptly deteriorated: it took me two hours to get home thanks to the MBTA being both snafu and fubar; my stamina comprehensively fucked off long before then; and I got back to the internet to discover the liar in the White House has declared a national emergency for purposes of immigrant crackdown, which is the kind of thing I have been worried about since he took office. Protests appear to be planned for noon on Monday.
spatch and I are supposed to attend our traditional twenty-four-hour science fiction film marathon ending at noon on Monday. I guess sleep-deprived protest it's going to be. This can't be the worst timeline, but could it stop doing its best to compete?
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- 1: I cannot feel it, the veil of black, a fine spray of white paint
- 2: I make sure there are hidden messages in my work
- 3: All the ghosts, some old, some new
- 4: I'll stay out until my mind is like a clear glass
- 5: The wind is blowing the planes around
- 6: Pilgrimage, private life, mortality
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