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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.


Sunday, July 26, 2009

No place like Gnome

Back home. Tired to the bone. A lot of good information, lots fun stuff, lots of network and catching up with friends.

Would like to talk about it all, but see that tired thing. Tomorrow is the day job. I guess the village has also been a buzz this past weekend as people finally get that we're going to ask them to change their government in a big way (well, not really, but because it's NEW they don't think it's good). I guess there were many phone calls this weekend.

So for at least the next two days I'm going to be dealing with Night Job stuff.

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