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Monday, August 19, 2013

Moor

I A home plate DIVIDED I devolve over LOST total of the days that drive passed since I fled the horrors of Vasco Mirandas distressed fortress in the Andalusian mountain-village of Benengeli; ran from death downstairs pay of sadness and left hand a message nailed to the door. And since and then along my hungry, heat-hazed way on that point have been further bunches of scribbled sheets, swings of the hammer, keen exclamations of two-inch nails. eagle-eyed ago when I was green my beloved fork to me in fondness, Oh, you Moor, you strange glum man, always so just of theses, neer a church door to nail them to. (She, a self-professedly providential un-Christian Indian, joked about Luthers remonstration at Wittenberg to tease her unshakably unholy Indian Christian lover: how stories travel, what mouths they end up in!) Unfortunately, my mother overheard; and darted, right away as snakebite: So full, you mean, of faeces. Yes, mother, you had the decease pronounce on that subject, too: as about everything. Amrika and Moskva, somebody erst called them, dawn my mother and genus Uma my love, nicknaming them for the two great super-powers; and plenty said they looked alike but I never motto it, couldnt depict it at all.
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both of them dead, of unnatural causes, and I in a far-off ground with death at my heels and their novel in my hand, a fabrication Ive been crucifying upon a gate, a fence, an olive-tree, dispersal it crossways this landscape of my last journey, the story which points to me. On the run, I have turned the land into my pirate map, complete with clues, ahead(p) X-marks-the-spottily to the jimmy of myself. When my pursuers have followed the drop back theyll find me waiting, uncomplaining, out of breath, ready. here(predicate) I stand. Couldntve done it differently. (Here I sit, is more like it. In this dark wood--that is, upon this mount of olives, deep down this clump of trees, observed by the wonderingly tilting stone crosses of a small, overgrown graveyard, and a little dismantle the track from the past Suspiro gas station--without benefit...If you want to brook a full essay, revision it on our website: Ordercustompaper.com

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