They do not like voicesOctober 2, 2009 at 8:10 pm | Posted in writing | 11 Comments
they cannot control which undermine positions long studied.
There was a Zen Buddhist temple and I was hungry and it was the somethings, a decade, perhaps it was Crowley in a turban, the monk was armed with a bamboo switch and no need for excuses.
I ate rice. Uncooked. I drank water for years. I had come as messenger and was mistaken for message.
You talk to me of strangenesses he said and things you have forgotten which are of no use to me. To find the boss, follow the money. To find the money, follow the boss and there was cosplay he said and left.