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Autumn arrived, the air almost cold. A dog runs down from the trail, grabs a few licks of gritty water, runs back to its master. Skipping from rock to rock, the creek is shallow but determined to reach sea's salty body.

Where is this journey taking place? It was planted in desert sand, but blooms in humus, the fat of the land. Shadows slip over the tops of trees like kit gloves, and a spider
receives and processes all somatosensory input from the body (touch, pain). Fibers from the spinal cord are distributed by the thalamus to various parts of the parietal lobe the connections form a "map" of the body's surface on the parietal lobe. This map is called a homunculus. The homunculus looks rather strange because the representation of each area spins its web in the wake of a rotting log.

This morning, city streets dappled with leaves washed down by rain, I rode backwards in a trolley, ruin-bunting brick facades with peeling skins of paint, behind which buildings in various frames decline.

 

Have I opened the door to the new? is carved into a battered door.
                                                                                    Life teaches us what
                                                                                                     someday we'll no longer need.

i've been hired to dive for underwater treasure, but  all i see are ordinary-looking stones. i feel as if these waters have been mined before, but i'm told to continue looking.

 

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