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Overhead the albatross hangs motionless upon the air
And deep beneath the rolling waves in labyrinths of coral caves
An echo of a distant time comes willowing across the sand
And everything is green and submarine.

And no one called us to the land
And no one knows the where's or why's
Something stirs and something tries
Starts to climb toward the light.


Friday, November 10, 2006

What People Do for Money?

Okay, this gets filed under the "Weird Professions that I have to use in a story," there are professional Rock, Paper, Scissors players. Put those up there with professional skateboarders (which I can kind of understand), professional fast eaters, and professional video game players. If people are getting money for that, just how hard can professional writing be? Oh, yeah, never mind.

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