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Sixth months ain’t no sentence February 20, 2015

Posted by The Typist in A Fiction, cryptical envelopment, The Narrative, The Typist, Toulouse Street.
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Six months I have wandered and sought, excavated closets, scoured books, and read the crazed fragments of once familiar streets ( heaving in gentle tectonics, from dust to dust) & not even the iridescent scatter of glitter is enough.

Somebody, somebody must hold the key.

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1. Marco - February 21, 2015

The Other within might hold the key. In the garbage and the flowers.

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The Typist - February 21, 2015

There ate several Aspects within. The key I can’t find is how to empower the right one. What I’m really confronting is how to “wash out” of Approved Pharmacological Answers to the symptoms of Being Me so I can get back on the road to find out.

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2. Marco - February 27, 2015

Maybe one of those Aspects will empower you. Talk to them. I am going to try similar cleansing within a few months. I have regained some sense of smell and taste. It has been a long angst filled year.

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