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10:54 p.m. 2005-11-08

Direlect, infirm you are the metamorphic allusion to illusion that this fundamental of illuminary visionry is based upon. You are a flatline to cypher hope, you are a catastrophe to prove god, you are a tremor in the hearts of man to prove value and emotion. You are the inspiration of lust and disgust and an everincreasing fervor that devours men whole. You are sin and soul and all that could ever be. And she called me the ocean. Like violence you are a mirror of innermost desires and like too much time you are the shattering of the hourglass. In the wake of the glorious coming of you what can i be but everlasting? You call yourself triumphant as your brightest spark despairs and fades against the onslaught of nighttime and children's laughter. You are massive and transcendent but you are unwhole and inhuman and your sight is a knife that cuts without cause. You have it all but you have no purpose. And me? I am the ocean, that perfect reflection of secret thoughts or stunning sunsets, I am that embrace, gentle and strong and allconsuming. I am the calm of the eternal and the weakness of that tempermental glassy surface, I am the ocean and I will be anything. Will you be the moon to change that course?

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