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  • The Earth's moon and I are best friends. Every chance we get, we commune and I speak her language like few living souls. At times she is silvery pregnant, near bursting with secrecy. Then she will appear jaundiced, swollen and hushed like a prisoner. Indeed she is a prisoner of her own infatuation, like the sun, with us. How could not they be? We amble and gyre with such ridiculously fascinating complexity, which celestial orb could not be transfixed by our being? And so we are the center of the universe. At least this ones. The roving space around us like the balcony crowd of this winding opus of life unraveling on this chosen sphere to the; now subtle, now frantic rhythm of history. So take a bow, each and every. The spot light like the sun or the moon gazes only upon you.
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