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To put it quite frankly I think I am depressed again, depressive, blue, gray, however you would like to call it. I am not even sure how—sometimes I would like to question it intently, sometimes I understand the futility.

So heavy with the most searing and trivial symbolism did this new vision come to me; missed farmer’s market, a re-visiting of the old path, the weather so clearly and densely changed. And silence. An absolute silence of the mind, a silencing.

There has been gentleness too, a reaching out, a reply. But the heart is stubborn with its weighing of desire.

The best I can do is to not to deceive myself and to ease in my reproaching. Yet there is a paralysis, a heaviness in the throat, pains in the stomach. Elegy for a young man lost, doubled waves, impossible solutions.

So trusting of this temporary sun, I have been stupid. Wish me luck.

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