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This day often goes a little something like this:

Burroughs poem, Burroughs poem, syphilization in the form of poxed blankets and landfills that became shopping malls and every last one of us is stepping over corpses and a good start is to go vegetarian and I've finally convinced my family to skip ALL holiday presents this year because last year hurt so bad so I'm likely to forget if you're a friend I usually exchange gifts with but I'll make sure to have some magic plastic cards that transform into any book you want plus shipping and I love everyone.

Seriously, I have issues with a holiday like this and I probably should fast out of protest, but one of the things that gets me through is some sort of weird internal Romper Room where I peer through a mirror inside my head and I see all of you and say your names (even the ones of you who are dead and can't read this) and I think about the people I care about and it seems less nasty, brutish and short. At least for a day at a time.

So, thank you all for being the people who float around in the haunted mineshafts of my mind. I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you.

And thank you for thanking me for thanking you, too.

Kisses,
Geoffrey

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readingthedark

May 2009

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