Tuesday, November 28, 2006

He said to himself: "It's hard sometimes to see the forest; even harder to see the trees. There's always the 'stuff' in the foreground to contend with and to be confused by. Nothing is what it seems to be anymore. Everything is something else. The sky is turning into a cap, trapping us down here. The ocean is becoming a toxic bath. The ground is moving beneath my feet. It's neither here nor there. It's one day at a time. It's the fly in the ointment; it's the mote in my eye."
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