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March 29, 2013
Within that ritual of connection to one, by flows we cannot vet or behold as we hold words spoken under euphoria's canopy, that which was held at bey becomes our yen to hold another; in the alchemy grown through hearts thrust into the rapids like mad Kells churning through ideological foundations to which we surrendered, we divine the perplexing blend, and the driving madness, as a golden fire, consumes the day, the hour, the minute, the second, the quintessential present for the one met, completes the needs of the other; so the river flows, we drink, and we are strangely nourished.