Thursday, November 22, 2007

Cold again, wind in the treetops, high moon, nearly full, sailing through the clouds.

Thinking about little boy thinking about the world, thinking hard, leaning too far out & falling in. All in a rush, filled with its wars without end; its unceasing, merciless torment. Stayed down for quite a while, then pulled himself to shore. Never really the same after.

So what's the fucking body count today? So long since I bothered to even try to keep track. No suffering worse than what any one can suffer, anyway.

Desperate longing for peace, had a taste of that a while back, not deemed fit for it, soldiering on.

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