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March 25, 2011
Inspired to fire away lassitude's melodious compunctions and viability of verbose criticisms is the tune of the day. Inside my enclosure, via body beyond four walls and insurances of a friend, I'm diagrammed to become the need itself after desire washes clean a soiled creativity. This is the point and task of the virtual quill. My words conjure nothing less than this. Even more so, the landscapes that cannot be touched by words, is the eruption of the attempt springing forth from contact with places of silence acknowledged by all regardless of faith or the emptiness brewed by its absence.