My Stories
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Icy snow whipped about his face, and snuck through each tear in his cloak as he cascaded the mountainside. Billowing snowclouds caused a premature night to fall, and any sane m
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12:58 am. His eyelids only got heavier, sitting in front of the flickering monitor on his desk. He was, at the moment, content to stare and listen to the music that seemed to d
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He stared at it for a long while, the dimunitive piece of machinery that was giving him so much grief; a recessed filter switch. A small, on/off switch down in the crevasse of
My Poetry
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Principled, striving for truth
Like a pure note, a light air
<100 words, 1 comment,
April 6, 2005. In 0, 0, 18
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