outwait outrun outwit


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10.30.07, Tuesday morning

In an autobiography, pinch the nose. Beware mold, mites, plague. These dry dead hours are difficult to exhume. Avoid time's amanita, destroying angels lying nascent and fetching in this advantageous bed.

Now breathe out. Just a small sacrifice, to repeat as long as you can hold out. Let the dampness of your present life mingle, even contaminate, the dust of the past.

Water, air and dirt: children consort with these materials in all innocence. You, on the other hand, are filthy. Too much melancholy and regret.

Now dig. For your ex-wife, young and eternally, gratefully yours; your father, healthy and black-haired; the child you couldn't name.


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