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John Birkbeck |
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IT'S THE HOLY GRAIL . . . or maybe the esotericism of whatever passes for academic discourse in these later days of no Latin no Greek no rollick in the original tongues of bards who in facing the Moors had strummed of delayed lust for ladies a-waiting in their foggy homelands IT'S CHARITY Has the specie reached the point of ultimate and logical absurdity he wondered and is it possible for such a life form to imagine a fourth primary color? The pretty girl all heart and not very too smart laying on top of him rolled him yet one more cigarette; the work of an amateur all floppy and wet and falling apart at its seams. It seems she was being too kind too good but in her own mind she thought that she was taming something wild-- but in whom? |