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My thoughts have all fallen like scattered little bits; letters dragging round with the whirlwind of circulating garbage and leaves. Every time I time I think to talk; to respond, the exhaustion comes to pale it all into washed out nothing. There�s no inertia to carry them through. I spend days like this just shadow boxing my idea of living and the image of who I was and what I thought I would be. If my head is a house I�ve turned it upside down and redecorated so many times I don�t even know who lives here. It�s a work in progress except I can�t vouch for the progress part. �Void of course� - go ask Jim Carroll..
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