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this daily routine of mine: wake up, go to work, come home, sleep. it is a bland continuum, perhaps a sign. Am I dying every day? no. i am no sheep. yet here i sit, drifting in and out of indifference. similar to all other days, the routine; i have reached a point on this one, where it is almost over. i have survived the pendulum, tomorrow, it's guillotine. my mind formulates verses even now, and meditates within the white hum of several voices. Has my voice become monotonous? i complain only to myself, and perhaps my Self answers as if from now here.. i hear the beautiful laughter of two small girls ..and i know everything will be alright. Conceived November 2001
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