Ah What the Heck....
Tuesday, March 3, 2009

More Albatross Diaries, little teaser for y'all. Promise I'll post relatively soon, these have been a long time coming. The following is really opaque and not very representative of the whole, but the others would give too much away. Copyrights 2009 and all apply, etc.:
ENTRY # ????

They are playing with the Amygdala—poor child. None of us really care, and her mother shouldn’t have named her that. With such a name, how can she not be teased in dark alleys? Afraid of the garbage collectors. The cockroaches. Afraid she will wake up one morning like them, with an exoskeleton and nothing else inside.

I am pages in an album, layered together and pressed until they make a girl of letters, a paper daughter. There is carbon in paper, and, given more coaching, I could someday become more than a rough diamond. I need to be cut, and set into my place.

A life in sips or slips—of these, strong synthesis cannot be made, and Ockham’s blade is become defiled—with only two hands he cannot possibly handle all these conclusions offered by single incidences. This is funny, laugh with me! Humor abounds in the lack of synchronous development or understanding, and life must be split, repeated again, like petals on an ever-blooming tree. I think his now-multiple razors should be named Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, come to purge Denmark of the hypocrisy it has skirted for so long. But they are kept on a hempen leash, and are not let out alone.
They run away like sniggering children, these vandals of my soul.



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