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going off inside my boots, and it felt so warm inside, and moist, and what do you know about the limited time we spend on this planet until we fly on up to the next, a stellar performance we should think about more often as we throw up, fish or no fish, we swim and reach the other side of the river if it is not the ocean in which case a whale comes in handy only if your name is Jonah, which frequently it is not - my second name is Mary but don't tell anyone - and in my case it was a river I swam, the whole length of it, feeling for the end but never reaching it, instead it did turn into a darkblue ocean underneath a blackdotted night waking up to morning as it sometimes does with that listless sense of senselessness that lets waves lap at your feet like so many dreams, that is if you got up that early, hey Simon wake up !! Since when do dreams lap at your feet ? And where did the moose go in this story ? - well I think it left for good, so I better tell you the story why Santa Claus does not shave ......? You know that one ? Then maybe you would you like to know how long it takes to fly from here to there ? No ? OK, here's what we're gonna do: you know we left the kitchen-lamp dangling above your orange-juice, we'll just switch it off and make believe the whole thing never happened . . . . . . . . . . hush . . . ! . . . . . Can I have some of your juice ? . . . . .
( - No, Mr. Vampyre, you can't have some of my juice. Thank you, Mr. Vampyre. )
31. März 2009 |
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