Vanishing Point

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Preparation day again. The days, the week, the seasons and the years flit by me in disconcerting rapidity. Time has become a blur as I race toward Lethe’s waters to drink to oblivion, and await my Masters voice in Eternity.

I live in a very secure place, though the world is becoming a hostile place for me. I guard my steps. I guard my tongue. I guard my heart. I draw water from my own well that I hand dug during the dry places in life, and sip the droughts in secret spaces.

The day will soon enough come when I am totally abandoned even though surrounded by friends and family, and I will show Charon an oblose, but not pay him until he gets me to the other side.

‘Tis a strange gray morning in this land where bright sunshine pours in the window. The coffee cup is empty. The studio an olio of sounds from Kippur and air filters. Time to replenish the cup.

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