Wednesday, 11 June 2008

I dream of time-travel, and the great inequities of life. A rich woman throws her coat to the wind and jumps into a cool mix of earth, muck, twigs and dry leaves.

I see food. From four different times. Thrown into the same pot. A delicious gooey purple-red mixture.

(Don't ask me. I just dream it. The rest is up to you.)

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Talk, my friend. Now that you've read this section, the urge to speak has increased. I know. It's all right. It happens...
Stop fighting it. Talk.