Musing

So this is odd, the painful realization that has all gone wrong. And nobody cares at all, and nobody cares at all. So you buried all your lover's clothes and burned the letters lover wrote, but it doesn't make it any better. Does it make it any better? And the plaster dented from your fist in the hall where you had your first kiss reminds you that the memories will fade. So this is strange, our sidestepping has come to be a brilliant dance where nobody leads at all, where nobody leads at all. And the picture frames are facing down and the ringing from this empty sound is deafening and keeping you from sleep. And breathing is a foreign task and thinking's just too much to ask and you're measuring your minutes by a clock that's blinking eights. This is incredible. Starving, insatiable, yes, this is love for the first time. Well you'd like to think that you were invincible. Yeah, well weren't we all once ...

Must Find Ecclesiastes... or There is a Time to Die I have no idea where that little poem is at and that means doing research. Gr. I thought that that's where it's at. Any help?

The Best Allusion I've Heard All Week or I Think I Am Ayn Rand's Male Reincarnated Self Someone pointed out to me today that I was trying to be much like "the Atlas in Atlas Shrugged ." It makes more and more sense the more I think about it. Refer to the September 7th quote I gave if you need more context. Atlas is (literally) dying to shrug.