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Drawn towards pain the heart beats faster than ever played the piano's strings.
In separation music falters, in chasms echo an angel's wings.
Without a sound the memories of music plays in vacancy.
Without a voice four rooms stand hollow devoid of all but company.
In separation music falters, in chasms echo an angel's wings.
Without a sound the memories of music plays in vacancy.
Without a voice four rooms stand hollow devoid of all but company.
How beautiful a thing, this love.
"The future belongs still more to the heart than to the mind. To love is the only thing which can occupy and fill up eternity. The infinite requires the inexhaustible."
Victor Hugo - Les Miserables
We often wonder what might have been. Probably more often than we wonder what could be.
There is no reason for this, no good can come of it, no changes can be made that might affect what has already happened.
And yet the memory consistently returns to the wishes of years past, to plans that have since changed, to loves lost and opportunities squandered.
Why must we do this to ourselves? From what deep seated desire for punishment does this nee
A History of Blogs: As Written by Pat McBalls
In times of yore a "blog" was known as a Beef-LOG, it wasn't shortened until the late 20th century when the advent of the interweb allowed one to write out-of-proportion and mostly blasphemous literary iterations of the highlights or dourness of one's existence.
Beef-LOG's were used by a ship's captain or steering bitch to track the movements of the elusive sea-yack also known as the aquatic whale as it were. Being that paper was only an affluent man's anus cleaning medium, salted beef logs were used to scribe the aforementioned travels of said mentally retarted and unkempt sea mammals.
As history continued its course, the captain (or stee
© 2013 - 2024 True-Nine-Of-Spades
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