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February 14, 2012
The monumental assumptions drive us to the edge and back again to the idea of edge and a formation of the walls wherein we keep our dreams fractioning off the residues held for assurances that what we know to be absolutely certain is but a fog drenched clown smiling in the darkness waiting for the cue to make us laugh when we should be crying, though often in the gust of the primal urges, sending us reeling to the song of the end times, sewing the conformity of the best deal to be had....is just aching to own us.