Article: 178919 of talk.bizarre
From: STU_JGDRUMMO@vax1.acs.jmu.edu (John Drummond)
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Subject: the waste within
Date: 2 Dec 1994 18:58:50 GMT
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        <i will show you fear in a handful of dust.>

	Before all my passion died, I would make up songs to 
sing while I cried; songs that would break your heart if you 
could hear a bar or two.  They are gone now, though, just as
my tears have dried up, as my heart burns with a heat as dry 
as death.

	Indeed,  if passion is damp with  sweat, dew, brine, 
blood and semen,  then  heartbreak is  dust.  The longing of 
your heart's desire becomes a barrel of leaves  blazing in a 
drought-ridden field of ash.

	Before you knew her, before you touched her hesitant
body,  before the  union of heaven and earth became routine,
there was the longing.  Now,  imprisoned by these torturous,
jealous imaginings 
    <i wonder if she touches him just that way . . . no, no, 
no, don't go there, i beg you>,  there is the longing still.

       	This  is the  longing  of  wasteland  clerks selling
disease.  My heart is  now  sterile,  inflamed and  full  of
leprous sores. This longing is worst of all:  my emotion has
become impotent.

	I wonder if she is thinking...
                                                 <i beg you> 

-Omar

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podiatry: being broke is the best way to lose weight.