scattered notes

some short notes, which I keep scribbling here and there, and somehow have managed not to lose

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I sort of love the first line in Robert Evans' movie memoir-- The Kid Stays in the Picture:

There are three sides to every story: yours...mine...and the truth

What a wicked marvel!

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Parched throat of the earth
Starless silhouette of the firmament
Tricky Sun sucks on dew and glaze
Dryly smiling in shades of orange and crimson
Prayers submitted to heavens
To mend away the losses
Wash away the thirsty soil
Embellish the lonely skies

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I am looking at every bird in the sky with an indescribable glee on my face and child-like joy in my heart.


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A walk too long.
Symmetrical cuts adorn the feet.
Throbbing sensations.
Sore Achilles heel.
Frail bones, strained muscles
Cranky moods, stormy thoughts
Impatient expectations, rude realities.
Hmpf to the world!

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I want to rediscover the purity and essence life form first originated with the intention of. Instead I get involved deeper and deeper in its meaningless albeit seriously messy philosophy.

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If you look at it once, it will not reveal itself to you.
Look again. And this time gaze closely and intensely.
An unusual sight beholds.
Even the reflection of the dancing trees against blue-green blinds in the golden sun will speak a language of its own making.
These flashes of magic come everyday.
Blink and the elves of imagination will disappear.
The trick is to see with your senses.

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