messages to lionessa:
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Some days I can see color and beauty exploding from everything in the world, but it seems like most all I can do is listen to the same albums over and over again to just to find any connection at all to it. I'm in the same hole I'm always hiding in, just more reluctant than usual to poke my head out of it for god knows what reason.
It's much easier to find beauty in sixteenth century poetry than anything happening in the world right now, but I suppose that's just pessimism talking. We actually seem to be in a similar place in life right now: just moved after a long delay, shitted out car, looking for a new job... it's odd to see how the shared experiences of living fit together, isn't it?
"I sighed and I sobbed,
For that I was robbed
Of my sparrow's life.
O maiden, widow, and wife,
Of what estate ye be,
Of high or low degree,
Great sorrow then ye might see,
And learn to weep at me!" - John Skelton
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