I slept eight hours last night, but I do not appreciate that my brain used the time to concoct a dream specifically tailored to upset me: a field trip to a museum where all the tableaux were constructed with preserved and posed corpses. It was especially unpleasant because I would otherwise have enjoyed one of the special exhibits—a history of poisoning across the ages, with examples of living plants and deposits of minerals—if it hadn't been illustrated with dead bodies, not only of the appropriate demise, but all the living tasks as well. My mother thinks my brain has jettisoned all subtlety in dealing with academic trauma. And I seem to have some kind of cold on top of the sinus infection. On the bright side, Bertie Owen does not seem to have caught fire, even a little bit.
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Active Entries
- 1: And deregulate the couple at the bottom end
- 2: I had no inkling of just how far the plates of our continents would crack
- 3: And we're on the right side of the ground where they bury the bones
- 4: I'm not related to anyone
- 5: You are a case of the vapours
- 6: Now I feel like Kafka with a bad migraine
- 7: For when the heart's a sinking stone
- 8: Fierce as the Baltic sea
- 9: All the trees carve shards of light
- 10: Reflections coming through the radio, the telephone, the TV
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- Style: Classic for Refried Tablet by and
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