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Emerging from the subway into the miasma of workers, men striding superbly in their splendid suits streaming currents of thick-headedness. . .
ED. NOTE—In keeping with the current (and, some might say, callous) publishing craze for updating Jane Austen’s work—Alexander. . .
my man was committed
to an asylum as a child
wild thing fungal
thought. . .
As Joe sings to Mika, “Look at the signs, these are terrible times.” Listening to the tortured-yet-bouncy testimony of Mystified, I believe.
Bitcoin was never meant for the world; the world was meant to be refashioned in its image.
We are fumbling around, trying to work out the role that sleep plays in a prosperous life.