Thursday, April 1, 2010
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My diaries are like scattered feathers all over a field. Each feather, some piece of white paper. A feather from the magpie's chest,with black hieroglyphs splashed on the pure white. Or scribbled secret memos that I need time to decipher. But they all have some message about cleaning up the planet or the planet inside my head. My only desire is to do it right...
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