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From: frank_fowlkes@yahoo.com
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Subject: Re: green, yellow, orange, purple, red, blue, and black
Date: Thu, 05 Aug 2004 15:08:40 -0700
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frank_fowlkes@yahoo.com (Bum) wrote in message news:<e67cba1.0408022324.30e70d8e@posting.google.com>...
> * * *
> * *
> green, yellow, orange, purple, red, blue, and black
> * *
> *
> * * *
> * *
> *
> * *
> *
>
> *
>
> * * *
> * *
> * * * *
>
> *
> #
> * # * * * * # *
> * * * *
> * * * * # *
> * # * *
> * * * * * #
> # # *
> ## # *
> *
> # * * *
> * *
> * # * * #
> *
> # # * *
> # * # * * * *
> ## # ## * *
> * ## * ## # # * #
> * ## * ## # # #
> # # # ## *## ## * *
> ### # # * ## # # #
> * # ##
> * ## # ## ## ## *## *
> # ## ## #
> * ### *## # # * ## *
> ## * # # ## ## # ## ## *
> * * ## ### ## ### * * *
> * ## ## ## ## ## * ### *
> *## ## ### # ### #### *
> ## ### ##### # # ## #
> *## # # ##### # # # *
> * #######
> # ### # * *
> * #### ## * * *
> ####### * *
> * ## ### *
> * * ## ### *
> * ##### * *
> ########
> ##
> * *
> * *
> * # # # #* *
> *
> *
>
> * # # # *
> The snow was falling around him, and some black trees creaked slowly
> in the wind. He lifted his hands away from the snow. The black
> mountain and the day after the seventy seventh hour started to creep
> closer to his thoughts but, always and soon after, he felt another
> black lapse coming that would push the mountain, the day, further
> away. He started counting where he left off. The black lapses he could
> never stop; they stopped thought, stopped ideas, but he hope that this
> time he would be able to pass. And yet he felt they were coming more
> and more merciless now, more than ever; he was starting to question
> whether attempting the pass was worth the risk.
> # # #
>
> * # # # #
>
> when you start to feel tired rub #
> *imaginary ice over your arms,
> face, neck, chest
> *
>
> #
> "This one is stronger than the last," he thought, at the same time
> counting down from seven hundred. He tried every other method to pass
> through the black lapses without losing consciousness, imaginary
> walks, imaginary cold baths, imaginary fights, imaginary love affairs,
> none of them help, only counting or repeating sentences over and over
> again sometimes helped but never entirely; he would always end up
> drowning. Imaginary fights and fucks, imaginary people and worlds,
> helped him get through the early grey lapses.
> The grey lapses only lasted the first night; they only suggested
> sleep, suggested that he close his eyes and rest awhile, last thoughts
> always a fuck, or maybe a fight to keep a fuck or get a fuck, get
> another fuck. A long time ago, imagining before sleep also helped him
> plan the next day, if he ever woke up again, to get stuff right: right
> place, right time, right change to be right person, and other times
> they changed stuff from how they actually happened, or how someone
> would have like for them to happen, meeting someone, going somewhere,
> being able to start over, a new promise. The second night, when
> gradually the grey lapses turned black, and the black lapses didn't
> suggest sleep, they stop all thoughts from continuing, from forming,
> he resorted to counting. Imaginary fights and fucks were useless for
> him to use to help him get past the black lapses; they only took one
> so far, if one's imaginations turned right, love then a fuck, also a
> pass to do anything to anyone in this world, and if one's imaginations
> didn't amount to anything, no reason to go any further. Staring up at
> the stars, the end half of the second night, he began counting the
> waves crashing on the beach, one, two, three, four-hundred and
> thirty-one, on and on, and with the grey lapses turning blacker and
> blacker, no longer able to repel them, he began to wonder if they
> would finally put him to a sleep that he would never wake up from.
> Yet, the lapses weren't sleep; people choose to sleep, like they chose
> to fuck, kill, and fuck, and kill, kill in assorted ways, they were
> different; worse; they were like an undertow, and after breaking the
> surface to breathe
> again, one not sure about the last count, never sure about the extent
> of the lapse, another black lapse would come, and another, and
> another, halting the
> day after the seventy seventh hour, halting the path. The black lapse
> were like death, one dead sure, never to be here again. He lifted his
> fingers off his wrist, not fast enough, the lapse was starting to
> peak.
>
>
> * *
> bend your left arm, tap right
> phalanges against your elbow * #
> #
> * #
>
> He started to rub sand up and down his arms and up to his neck and
> began counting imaginary drops of water falling on a puddle, one, two,
> three, faster and faster, ten, eleven. His thoughts were beginning to
> go under and be washed away. "Don't stand up," he remembered, every
> muscle in his body wanting him to. The black lapses never appeared
> when someone was doing repetitive motor exercises, one needed to be in
> the dark and supine. At the same time, the black lapses weren't to be
> avoided, in a way, the lapses would be needed to find the path to the
> black mountain, to the day after the seventy seventh hour, to the last
> thought. No one could get to the black mountain by not passing through
> the black lapses, if anyone could get through one, through death
> itself. He would always drown, waking up the next morning to a sound,
> to a strange sense that he almost pierced through but never knowing
> for sure; this was his thirty-fourth attempt trying. After some of the
> black lapses, he would remembered the number with other strange
> figures, and that he was only counting, somehow manipulating the
> number, other figures, that he only counted to stay awake, stay awake
> for the day after.
> The lapse ebbed, and his mind began to slowly clear.
>
> #
> * #
> hold your breath, count the seventy seven
> knots on the string, round and round *
>
> #
> *
> He sat up. The sky was still black but he could see a faint glow
> somewhere on the horizon. "Never here again," he repeated several
> times before resting back to the earth. Past one, he thought to
> himself; this can't be right; the mountain wasn't here. He repeated
> the words from the memorized text, only at night, only supine and
> alone, could the path through the black mountain, the day after the
> seventy seventh hour, creep any nearer. He wanted another black lapse
> to come before the sun climbed into the sky; he wanted to make sure he
> actually past one. "The black lapses have been crossed, and for what,
> for a ?never again.'"
>
>
> ## #
> anything, slap the back of your hand!
> just don't choose to fall asleep before
> the seventy seventh hour # #
>
> ## #
>
> And one came, lasted only a couple of seconds, and he was wrong, or
> just a little off, the black lapses have been never been past, the
> last one like the early lapses, only grey and mistaken for black, and
> this one not only threaten to drown him to sleep, this one physically
> threatened to snap him out of existence. He started to count and
> paused, the stars started to violently shake, the ground erupted, and
> then began to repeat sentences over and over again, this lapse unlike
> anyone of them experienced before.
> ## #
>
> * ## * # * *
> * #* # # * # * * *
> * ## # # * # *
> * ## * # # ##
> * ## # ## #
> * #### # ## *
> * ## ## ## #
> * ## # * * ## *
> * # ## # *
> * ##
> # * # # ## *
> * * ## * * *
> # * # * ## *
> * * # # *
> * * # # # ##
> * * # # # * # * ## *
> # * * # # * ##
> *# ##
> * # #
> * * * * *
> # * * # *
> * * # * * * *
> * # # # * # # *
> * # # * * *
> # *# # # #
> # # # # # # * # *
> *# # ## #
> * # * # *##
> * # # *
> * # # ##
> # * # * *
> * # * # * ##
> * *#
> * * # * * *
> # * * She was hanging clothes outside,
> *# # #
> * #
> # * # *##
> * # * * * *
> * # * * # # *##
> * # # *# ##
> * ##
> # * ## *##
> * # * * # * *
> # * # * # *
> * * # # *
> * #*
> * * * * *
> # * * # * #
> *##
> * #
> * * * * *
> * #* * *
> * * * #* * *
> * # * *
> * # * # * *
> *
> # * # *
> * and the wind started to come down the mountain.
> * * ### *#
> * *
> *#
> * ## *#
> * * * * *
> # * *#
> * * * *
> * # * * * *#
> * * * *
> * # * * * * *
> * * # *
> * * # *
> *#
> * # * * * *
> * * *
> * * *
> * * * *
> * #
> * *
> *
> * *
> * * *
> *
>
> * * # * * * *
> * * *
> *
> # * * *
> * # *
> *#
> * *
> * * * * *
> * *
> * * * *
> There was this green tree on a hill surrounded by a desert, and this
> boy was at its base and looking up. He saw that there was a space that
> one could climb into and disappear from the death. The boy climbed up
> the, tree, and he felt safe; he meet the gentle creature that never
> died, that kept the death away there. They promised the boy to protect
> him from the death. And then some monsters came; they came and rested
> under the tree. The boy watched them grunt to each other. Then they
> all left one behind the other, and a strange smear was left behind, a
> purple light that was slowly spreading. The leaves turned red; the
> black branches turned cold. He climbed down and followed them for
> awhile. They spread the death much faster in their wake than the other
> monsters that were here, the boy thought; there is more purple light
> than the faint glow of the last monsters; these monsters will spread
> the death faster. Some sounds were heard, and he saw them surround one
> of the gentle creatures. The gentle being pleaded for the monsters not
> to spread the death. The monsters didn't care; they wanted what the
> last monsters wanted, whatever the hell that was. The gentle creature
> didn't want to join the monsters so the gentle creature was torn to
> pieces and eaten, munched from the rump all the way to the crown. The
> boy shouted for them to stop but they wouldn't, they even turned and
> smiled. The boy stared to run away; he was really scared, he didn't
> wanna get munched either. The green tree on a hill surrounded by a
> desert is no longer there, and all the gentle creatures have been
> murdered and eaten. Now there is only the purple light and the few
> remaining monsters.
> * *
> * *
> *
> * *
>
> ## * *
> * * * *
>
> * * *
> He felt the purple pulsation, and was scared. He didn't know exactly
> how but he sensed that maybe he was one of those monsters and that one
> of the gentle beings was trying to communicate with him, the death is
> spreading too fast.
> One of the gentle beings then touched his cheek, and he started to
> cry. He too wanted to reach out, touch the gentle being, put his lips
> on her, maybe munch her a little, but the pulsation went black, and he
> was pull under, and was drowning again.
> * * ## *
> * ##
> *
> * *
> * * * *
> * *
> * * * *
> The cold wind started to come down the mountain.
> * * * *
> * *
> * ##
> ##
> * * *
> #
> * *
> # *
> * *
> * * * *
> * *
> * * * *
> Followed the bum from the interstate; watched him from a distance; and
> waited until he slept before crawling closer. The bridge rumbled, and
> the air smelt like piss. Knelt down and stared at him,*there, ashes
> and trash, sleeping, dreaming. Began to wonder about his thoughts
> right before he drifted off to sleep. He might not wake up tomorrow;
> might wake up to a pain radiating out from the center of his chest,
> down his arms, down his legs, no light, eyes closing around a black
> sky. Nearer, watched*his breathe sprinkle the air with snow flakes.
> Brushed his cheek with the back of my hand; stepped back, crouched
> below the horizon, and remained still. The bum was motionless, silent,
> but I knew he was awake,*skin and eyes, ears and nose, a mind not
> knowing which way the wind was blowing. Wanted to*climb, my black
> silhouette
> rushing forward, and soon, my cold hands around his throat, drowning
> him in his own spit but he soon fell back to sleep, not ever knowing
> the
> reason why he woke up to a quiet black sky. I picked up a rock and
> placed it forward, and then moved the rock back to its former
> location. The bum didn't stir. Stared at the rock and happened to
> think of her. She would always do the same, never even stir, but
> sometimes, after a*strange noise, after a draft of wind, awake a
> little longer, believing that shadows were crossing the black framed
> window, she sometimes noticed a difference but then she would always
> fall asleep and forget. I buried the rock. The bum won't even notice
> the difference when he wakes up tomorrow. Myself, sometimes I would
> wake up in the middle of night, and, strange, find my mind empty,
> frantic almost, no place, no purpose, no name, and after, my name is,
> I'm right here, I'm doing this tomorrow, fall back to*sleep not caring
> about the difference, only wanting to sleep, with a name or not. Stood
> up. Stay awake past the seventy seventh hour; what if you went to
> sleep and you never woke up, she teased once, and tell me then, your
> last thoughts right before you fall to sleep. I looked down at the
> bum. I wanted to creep closer, didn't care if she, the bum, or if
> anyone heard me, soon, real soon, after the seventy seventh hour.
> Stood there, wondering who put all those thoughts in my head right
> before sleep, not her, left the cunt a long time ago, or maybe she
> left me, doesn't matter anymore, she has her prayers I have mine, the
> prayer after*the seventy seventh hour, and wondered there too long.
> The bum was beginning to open his eyes as the sun behind me climbed.
> And then there was only a scream. *
> *
> * *
> * * * *
> * *
> * * and the wind came down the mountain. *
> *
> * *
>
> ##
> *
>
>
> *
> Don't fucking drive a car, idiot; walk, take the bus; and position the
> body to sleep at night; that's right, no coffee, no mindless stunts,
> only position: supine, tittering on the edge of the black lapses!
>
> * ##
> Blue toaster waved at little Red saucer.
>
> "Hi!"
>
> Little Red saucer started to cry. ##
>
> He only dated you to get near someone better, and you two broke up not
> because of an absence of love but because one person didn't want to
> share, further a lie, the truth being, you'll lose, just because you
> haven't yet, doesn't mean you won't, see right over here, your soul
> stops, and guess what, little critters were playing over where your
> soul stopped, little greens ones, blue, and orange ones; they were
> really funny.
>
> "So what you gonna do with that secret?"
>
> Little red saucer stopped crying. ##
>
> "Be sure to get pregnant next time before someone really gets to know
> me."
>
> Blue toaster nodded.
> ##
> Some thunder was heard, and rain drops began to fall.
>
> Copper tea pot appeared.
>
> "Super glue has put me together again."
> ##
> Little Red saucer started to spin, around and around.
>
> "A day smashed and put together again later."
>
> A tea bag peeped.
> ##
> "Some parts missing, missing parts filled in with super glue, supposed
> to make you stronger now."
>
> Copper tea pot didn't like that so she left so did blue toaster.
>
> "Bye."
>
> They looked back and only saw a tea bag on a red saucer.
>
> *
>
>
> *
> Some blue critter was being hurt. And she asked what are all the
> motives to kill, to hurt, and the little blue critter cried out before
> being slapped in and out between some pink bums, to eat and continue
> the soul, to fuck and further one's soul. *
>
> *
> *
>
>
> * *
>
>
> She left him to stand there alone.
>
>
> *
>
>
> *
> He plunged downward, further and further, and the sentences were
> starting to change; they were getting stranger; he felt they would
> eventually lead him to the source of the wind, the mountain, to the
> very last sentence.
> *
>
>
> *
> *
> #7#
> # *
>
> #
> * And he stood there alone. #1
> #
> *
>
>
> ##4
> #
> Stuff to do during the day so as to stay awake passed the 77th hour:
> don't walk around, from one end of the city to the other; don't walk
> down some railroad tracks, walk back; don't read; don't watch TV;
> don't work, no fun; don't panhandle for loose change; don't protest
> something; don't do anything, just rest, go down to the park, lay down
> under a tree, use only thoughts, to repel the white lapses,
> *
> * 5#
>
> Stuff to do during the night: write a little, from memory, from the
> past day,
> then position self supine, and wait for black one's.
>
>
>
> *
> * #6
> And put this thought in your pretty little head, maybe after another
> and another black lapse, up until sometime after the 77th hour, more
> and more parts of her and the whole world slowly disappearing, or
> something
> weird like that, finally the black mountain will be lifted off on this
> place, off and away, something cool like that.
>
>
> *
> *
> Sleep, sleep, sleep, tomorrow will be different, you'll be able to
> live with the promises you broke, and then one day you won't even wake
> up at all, entered his mind, and these were unlike the grey lapses,
> these were more honest, he wouldn't be able to keep his promise to the
> child left on the mountain, the black lapses kept him from coming any
> closer. He stopped the sentences, she didn't leave him, he didn't
> leave her, never any relationship, maybe only a one night stand, he
> needed to be honest to himself, and he was never alone, not then, not
> seven years later, he belonged with those in the black patch, only
> motives to keep thought going, he hoped to use them to be able to keep
> his promise but they weren't enough, they didn't keep him awake, and
> he sure didn't want them to be his last thoughts. He wanted the black
> mountain; wanted the day after the seventy seventh hour; he wanted to
> keep his promise, the promise that started the wind to come down the
> mountain. He remembered seeing a bug in a toilet; and he remembered
> how the wet bug felt in his hand as he walked towards an exit; and
> then he began to plunge again, black.
> *
>
> *
> "Bitch, you ain't got no mojo."
>
> Some funny little critters were dancing around an old couple, and some
> danced better than others.
>
> "So you two have been together for over fifty years."
>
> "See those two boys near the tree watching the girl over there?"
>
> The couple nodded to the girl.
>
> "The girl thought she loved one of the boys a little more but then one
> boy killed the other boy so then the girl ended up loving the boy that
> was still around. Why?"
>
> The woman looked at her husband and said, "it's a trap; she wants to
> lure us in."
>
> "Or how about those two girls watching that boy; one of the girls died
> and the one still around ended up being loved by the boy."
>
> "Why."
>
> The old man started to break dance, and the old woman put her hands on
> her knees.
>
> "Ever wonder how two people come together?"
>
> The critters started to run away. They both shrugged.
>
> "Boys and girls die so you two can be together."
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> [more of the same, surreal stuff, lucid dreaming etc.; first part
> introduction to the phenomenon: inability to stay awake, and if awake
> for too long the body and mind puts an end to that through, call them
> whatever, black lapses, nodding off, and why so, what thought is it
> trying to prevent the mind from putting together; and then what
> follows, second part, the usual, some stuff that'll have gramps or
> some future gramps mad, same fucking gramps thinking they be the whole
> reason why world and other people, ideas, are existent, since the
> whole world rests on their shoulders, of course, or something; and
> then the requiem, third part, maybe the kid gets to the mountain, the
> day after the seventy seventh hour, or maybe this lapse finally puts
> him down, or maybe he wakes up the next morning, one day closer to
> death, one day closer where he will be no more.
>
> Where does the soul of a person go when the person dies?
>
>
> Is the soul the same as personality?
>
>
> Why has man concealed that the soul is really passed on and on through
> fucking and stuff. There is evidence for that, anywhere someone is
> watching someone else hold their infant child. The infant is usually
> thought as a separate person, as if the child can belong to anyone,
> when, evidence contradicts that, and that may explain many motives.
> Maybe some souls are better than others, look around, read some
> history books, lot of people look strangely a like. Anyway, stuff has
> been covered, boring kinda, reason why people get up in the morning,
> reason why they'll do anything to further their soul. If the soul can
> be furthered 2 4 8 16, some turkeys sacrificed on the way, then it
> sure as hell can be furthered 16 8 4 2.
>
>
>
> Does thought have a soul, 43972 92873 39201 83722?
>
>
>
Just more ideas behind my vignettes, and they themselves supporting
the phenomenon, the black lapses, nodding off, just like the
phenomenon of false dawns
False start: an utterance then abandoning it, sometime before the end,
and starting a new idea,
What if one followed a false start to the end, done in argument though
rarely?
Amethyst hippos go to the upside down Marshmallow Mountains every year
for fun and stuff. Usually after amethyst hippos the statement stops
and changes to something like this, amethyst hippos don't exist unless
someone paints them.
Stuff been done before in stories, a false start, and then the end,
more or less, two people just looking at each other, maybe hugging, or
some dude in a dark room looking out of a window, 3 A.M., snow
falling, a faraway light, something like that.
And believe me, worse, fucking heart breaking, poor kid disqualified
from a swimming meet, or far worse, stuff that'll
make tears run down your cheek, at least for a little while.
Anyway going for seven vignettes, not really sure how I am going to
link them other than they all attached to the black lapses, and need
to step away from this work for awhile, come back later, mind's fried.
The black lapses
/ \
A -- B -- F
\ \
C \
G / \ |
D E
>
>
> ]
> *
>
>
> The remains of the dead baby were on one of the mountain's ledges.
>
>
>
> And that makes all the difference, pieces of a person still here, if
> not the soul, still alive, and another dead and listening to a
> cricket. Don't even need to listen to a cricket to learn that, proof
> in us all, alive today, well as sure to be alive tomorrow.
>
> Wonder who you killed on your way to
>
> They may not be dead now but they'll be dead, and you'll/you both
> still be around somewhere, some future someone gazing off then
> unexpectedly smiling, that be you/you both smiling, some piece that
> was in you now in them,
>
> Good title for a story: wonder who you killed on your way to a happy
> life.
>
> Can you see the soul in one person, say a father or mother, and see
> that same soul in one of their children, and doesn't have to be
> complete, that is, interfere with the autonomy of a person, but, I
> guess, also known as a characteristic, like a smile, she has her
> father's eyes, she has her mother's temper, maybe same thing as the
> soul; don't know that much about the stuff.
>
> Anybody alive must have a good soul then, they be alive, anyone else
> dead.
>
>
>
> DNA are the instructions that put life together; if anywhere the soul
> be in there; our souls are carried forward by our children, et al
> spiny C+.
>
> maybe you're afraid she cares more, so many ways to do nothing in this
> life; why didn't she happen to fall into one;
>
> think and write, think and write, think and write, think and write
>
> 1997, seven years ago, took me awhile to put it together, only
> instructions that put life together, only instructions.
>
> Cut and slice,
>
>
>
>
> And then there's 1997, some killings still happen the same old way,
> left on a mountain top, the woods, or a salt shaker in a glass of
> water,
>
>
> what is this soul in man, the soul is a mother or father holding their
> baby, and the soul is passed on and on. Can the soul stop, sure can,
> by not having a baby, that's the reason why making sure the soul
> continues is so important,
> make black white, wrath to grace, pop songs, and cool sit-coms.
>
> He killed a man's/woman's soul from continuing and got fifteen years.
> He got out and married, and had two children. Some souls are sure
> better than others.
>
> On and on, and on and on,
>
> The tail will catch up to the head someday.
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> Only reason to court to check whether someone can keep their promises,
> that be make money, shelter, protection, smarts, muscle, misc., or to
> find out their promises are a lie, not going to do enough to ensure
> eternal life, so to seek someone who can without wasting anymore
> youth/time. He didn't need to change that, she left him on the cold
> beach, right before the pacific expanse, maybe because he/she sensed
> that he couldn't ensure that she/they would live forever, that meant
> changing/continuing the world and people to make sure their baby had
> the best chance to continue the same.
>
> And he risked everything, risked even hope.
>
> *
>
> *
>
>
>
> Life is cheap. Don't need to hear your soul will stop too.
>
> *
>
> Your soul continued here but others changed here all so their
> souls could continue better, that make any sense.
>
> Dude scratched his head. There changing here more and more.
> Yup
>
>
> Makes you wanna try to change stuff too uh.
>
> My soul has gone as far as possible.
>
> I have no right. What right does anyone have? Some souls are better
> than others. Proof is in the pudding, and everything that come after
> because of that.
>
> -
>
> He no longer had any promise anyone could trust. They are changing the
> world and people by force to insure their eternal life; he expected to
> help them or something.
>
> Mom and Dad worked till they both drop dead one day, and for what.
> They would never understand, any moment God's wrath rained merciless.
> *
> 1: water purifier, 2: instant live eggs, 3: growth food; guaranteed to
> live two years; 95 cents postage and handling
>
> I'm alive, the fiery mountain, the day after the 77 hour.
>
> Most normal nights, not any thoughts, stop prayers long time ago, only
> wake up to another morning, an intermission, plenty food and plenty of
> women, some snapping at bling bling, others a couple of nods when they
> speak of stuff, then, eventually, curtains closing, opening, mangas
> colored rojo, the cream rising to the top, crap sinking.
>
> Possible state of mind after the 77th hour: fucking really tired, and
> like any other night, not caring to ever waking up again; at the
> steppe of the black mountain; or, wondering what 38402 93845 02038 938
> 9 84 9 is up to. State of body: p 100, bp 150/90, r 25, t 36.0
>
> Possible states of the body and mind after love: some bodily fluids
> over a white sheet, maybe some moaning if she really loves you; or
> someone in a trashcan, let someone build on a lie, someday a house of
> cards crashing down.
>
> Salt shaker in a glass of water speaks to artificial sweetener, TA
> diner remember, I80, East of Chicago, 97
>
> "And why does your love include having more than one baby?"
>
> "Nobody wants to stop your love!"
>
> "If anything, she wants to strength it. Nothing better than two
> people, even with death we'll never part, everyone, everything, else
> fucking corrupting that, adulterated it." Really fucking sickening, we
> think.
>
> "No one's gonna come between your precious love, silly; you two have
> nothing else."
>
> "Unless something else is going on, something to do with your eternal
> life, killing other life, halting any other life from having a chance,
> or something, you think."
>
> "16 8 4 2, and guess what, there is more mercy in that than the mercy
> given to others.
>
> "Live with it, we all don't for very long, you'll figure that out.
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> *
>
> *
>
> * *
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> Larry was holding the hand of a little child, then they both turned
> and disappeared up the crooked path. He kept staring, imagining them
> waiting for him but he knew he would never reach them in time. And he
> wanted to there with them, alive, more than anything.
> * *
> *
> * 14 * * 86*
> * 95*
> 239 * 59
> 7
> * * ## *
> * *77
> * * * ## * 68 *
> * * *
> *## ##
> * #
> * # ##
> * *# # ## ##
> 455 ## ## ##0 # ## *
> * * # ### # # ## ### ##### *
> * * # #4# ## # # ## #### ###
> * * ### ## # ### ### # ### ####
> * 1# ## # ## ##### ## ## ## ### #7##
> * ### ## ### # #6# ## # ## ### # ## ## ##
> ## ## ### ### ### ## ### # ## # ## # #
> * ## ## ## #### 45## #### ### ## # #### # 6# # # ## ## ## ###
> ## ## * * *##
> * # ## *
> * ## ##
> ## * ## ###*
> ## ## #
> * * ## ##
> #* * ## ## * ## * *
> ## * * * ##
> * ## ##
> *## ##
> He sat up, brushing some of the snow and sand off his legs. The wind
> was starting to flow the opposite direction; he could see the mountain
> above the horizon and the dark orange glow behind it. The mountain was
> moving up and away.
> ##
> #
> #
>
> #