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  • The pessimist was all smiles and plans for the future. That upbeat franticness almost manic of the pessimistic person.

    The optimist stayed low, and woke up every day in the dark, and did his writing. His only plan was: the only thing we know is today. The optimist neither smiled nor frowned. He had the plasticity of the zoning.

    The optimist was all and only, 'I am here to be a detail man of that approaching breath shadow.' The optimist let you be. The pessimist flooded you with their multi-moving-into-your-head creations, many synapses jumps in a day, thousands of bright burning out by day's end brain stars in a day, like a tour director on jagged sugar spikes: if it's Wednesday it must be---whoops we crossed the border into the next new skin Eden.

    The optimist was trying to apply cold compresses to his thought processes, to cool down the heat, to reach a kind of a chill with humility, to aim for fewer thoughts in a day, that thing which those who master crafts and sports know how to do: brain down like a batting yogi.

    The optimist was brewing coffee, grinding beans, by the cooler dawn by a window, with no options. The optimist was like shale and rot and long views with roan horses.

    (Photo by Susan, 2013)
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