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2003-10-06 Wanting a nice brick corner or fire place fort to listen to piano jazz while mumbling nervously over, trying the words again, until they seem only tongue tight and not meaning tight. Something of an offering of something. Everyday i come home with rubber limbs and a stretched out spine. i think of an impatience everyone who knows me must have of me. Distracting from one point to another all the while knowing purpose. To bed, and again. |