Sunday, October 26, 2008

Foggy headed.

The lack of sleep does strange things to an old body. It takes a while to catch up with yourself.

A record of disjointed thoughts:

We very seldom really "stick it to the 'man'". The "man" sticks it to himself. We sometimes cannot help, or have an obligation, to point at the self inflicted wound.

In spring the birds in the hollow sing their hearts out, all at once. There is only their need to sing. Even though it is rowdy and cacophonous, it is still beautiful.

Somehow this blog is a compromise between my strong desire to be noticed and my other strong desire to fade into the woods unnoticed.

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