When the trumpet's note rings sour; when the path to your favorite grove is overgrown, or worse, heavy with ox-rut; when the strangers you ask know neither the names of your former haunts nor those of your bosom companions, then you must accept your youth is dead.
When the trumpet's note rings sour; when the path to your favorite grove is overgrown, or worse, heavy with ox-rut; when the strangers you ask know neither the names of your former haunts nor those of your bosom companions, then you must accept your youth is dead.
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blowing off dust
More than once I have bought a "lifetime" membership in something, only to find the term weaseled into that-was-then-this-is-now. So this is a test…
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the old dog learns a new trick
My brother got an Xbox One as a premium for 15yrs at his job, and so I am slowly learning the arcane ways of the controller as an input device. I'm…
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Not Interested
Seriously, how rude and self-involved do you have to be to be so utterly convinced that you are right and I am wrong about something as to come and…
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