08/25/02
(Drama, drama, everywhere. A comedy of absurd despair. I don't live for this.)
08/05/02
Where is my astrolabe? Who waits for a ship to come in? Lonesome girls, often conspiring with the ocean to assuage their guilt. Longshoremen, figuring they have time to sober up. Those who report to some one or other. They ask the same question every day with their perpetually concerned expression, which is answered day to day with an empty harbor.
One day their ships will come in. In the meantime, I am looking for one going out. One day a grey-beard loon I be.
One contradiction corrects another.
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