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Monday 23rd January 2017.

He who dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose....i wonder on this gloomy winters day what window Anne Bronte was looking through to pick such words all those years ago when winters were perhaps much sharper, certainly there would be no Elephants walking down the highway at the time...i wonder myself this evening why the word Elephant has lodged in my mind, when endless streams of woozy words have vanished to hide behind the wall paper of this room.
Perhaps because the fact this is the last full week of January, a yippie is needed as winter has begun to fiddle under my finger nails, the sun is a mere ghost and the weekend has simply stole away the whole nine yards....Chinese new year is on the cusp with a year of the Cock the mind boggles in many directions some in flesh, others on a plate with chinese crackers festering amongst a gulag of troglodytes playing second fiddle to old King Canute still sat on the shoreline, whom by now perhaps thinks WTF after how many centuries....as my mind thinks more of the pillow at this hour of the day rather than the thorns on a rose......so goeth..

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bichoose

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