writing to know, knowing thru being, being for writing... this is me, writing about the one thing i know, which is myself... and even that is sometimes a mystery...

Sunday, July 24, 2005

holden caulfield speaks to me through walls of glass

museums are such disappointing,
depressing places.

all that stuff on display,
slowly rotting before your eyes.

they take all the glory and imagination
out of the past.

you realize when looking on them
the undeniable humanity.

and you lose all your fascination and trust in people of the past
for being like us.


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