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Mahayana and then there was love we had yet to feel, tiny ants under Shakespeare’s heel. apply what you’ve learned to the world outside, referencing: love, family, and suicide. show me how passion still carries on even after the body is gone. love being base and understandable to all made the task more daunting. ripped from the headlines her subjects came, smelling of newsprint, of anger, of flame

[The beautiful complexities of human emotion all denied for religious devotion]

[Remove the corpses before they stink]

[In writing make them live again. Two girls as lovers, much more than friends]
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jezabel i need armor. 030820
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oldephebe i can barely catch my breath that was so beautiful Mahayana

so many holy burning pyres here
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oldephebe "tiny ants under Shakespears heel"

masterful encapsulation - how apt, how wonderfully ..apt
I want to take that line and frame it in fire, freeze it, plaster it upon my mirror whenever I feel the heft and keel of my hydroencephalic ego - at some self-indulgent smear i've just written-

and the title of this evokes for some strange reason ..Coleridge - can't explain why yet, some morsel, bluntly extruded..have to hew it and shape it into clarity..maybe not..anyway ..
didn't Emily say something about a certain shade (maybe it was slant, but I like the juxtaposition and the disparate pairing of the two..)..there's a certain shade of light..it uses me and bruises me ..and(**now me just ruminating**) why do I thrive in those dusk colored breaths..in the darkest hours before the dawn? like some vampire preist or you know I wrap the night around me like a sacerdotal robe..don't know.. and it strikes me that I don't think I quoted Emily..I think it's some..half formed thought that has stalked my from my dreams and made it's way into the light..okay..I was tryin to compliment you..and ah I got lost in the brambled thickets of my ramble ..blah..blee blee...blah..

later
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