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I've been a puddle of goo since my session on Thursday. Emailed T and he didn't reply. Not unusual and usually doesn't bother me (dude does have a life after all), but this time I took it really hard.
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'...
At poor peace I sing
To you strangers (though song
Is a burning and crested act,
The fire of birds in
The world's turning wood,
For my sawn, splay sounds,)
...'
Dylan Thomas, Author's Prologue
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