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Monday, 24 October 2016

The stash

from the memory banks. The attempt to visualise. The words that pop. The bother or not to jot or note in not. The enjoyment of literary works in film. The outlandish ideas. My stories in dreams. And The night terrors. 

And then up all hours getting out the system my rubbish in droves. Or the silence. And then the rush of words pop and ping. The words in struggle from memories downed in time forgot. 

The rust edge sword of double conflicts. The tune ups in much life and mind not taken in the drifts and sands of time begot, begone and herewith... 

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