Monday, May 16, 2005  



August Strindberg Reporting

It is a long journey we journey as we journey through the journey of journeys.
We are naked infants in a moist darkness, an inky abyss.
The moon is somewhere above, and beyond that the sun -- we know this, and yet it is hard to believe on nights like tonight.
Now we see only the darkness, a shirtless clanky black. Old men and halfwits have defeated our best and brightest. And thus we must wonder: How bright? How best? The questions echo through the rotting corpse of the she-whale where we huddle for shelter.
Speravit infestis? Those words are nothing to me now.

posted by Wizznutzz | 7:55 PM
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1 Comments:

I dunno man, I like some Journey songs.

By Lindemann, at 6:47 PM  

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