Wednesday, December 28


Oh my! these nightpeople are on the move
In an evening of lights blessed st Remy
The way they slide about is modern poetry
Nothing like their kind

For what holds back tongue twined young
Minds bent to scurry in a lifetime
Of mad joy before the endtime ends once more
Tasting of lime and solemnity

Oh my! nightpeople lank and lie
Around the corners of slow dreams faster
Than the past shadows my eye
In the face of forever

For soon is the hour of reckoning dejected
Sitting on the lawn pockets out staring
Into each face in line, and nodding, we sense
Daypeople coming.

Tuesday, December 20


It's a maze without exits, the mind. I am going round and round trying to find answers or at least a place of safety, but all I find is the place where I left. Life is like watching television reruns. You know exactly what's going to happen, but you're powerless to call out to anyone or do anything about it. The whole time you are aging, there are fresh waves of other coming up to replace you. They make the same mistakes you did; they don't learn from them, like you didn't. And you're doing the same things now that you did when you were a child. Still making vows of renewal. When will the cycle end?

Friday, December 16

Medicine: Where is it heading?

I'm fairly certain that by 2025 most types of cancer will be treatable. Cancer is an error in transcription whereby cells begin to replicate themselves unceasingly, creating tumors. The mechanisms that cause such unrestrained growth are understood. Whether inherited, procured from the environment, or imposed by chance, unmitigated tissue growth is a function of either cellular distress or invalidated watchdog mecahnisms. With the advent of gene therapy it seems inevitable that a high rate of treatment will be obtained in the immediate future.

What about psychiatrics? Here the waters become murky. What is the reality of the mind? What kind of inroads can medical science make into mental wellbeing? Where in the conceptual chain of physiology-psychiatry-psychology does material science give way to abstractionism, if indeed it ever does? Is there such a thing as a reality which has no basis in materialism? Will science ever conquer such things as depression, low self-esteem, sense of purpose? Will it explain creativity and altruism? Do we want to? What will be the consequence on human morale if it does? These seem to be the more pressing questions facing this new millenium.

And why should we want to cure 'disease' at all? Isn't disease the weeding mechanism of evolution? What about overpopulation, resource depletion? This is the most abstract and least actualized facet of medicine. By doing good, are we doing harm? Like Asimov's 'zeroth law', will the Hippocratic Oath need to be modified to focus on the survival of species over individual? Who decides the future direction of the human race? To me, these are the fundamental questions of the 21st century. Until they are answered, every other breakthrough is subject to doubt and second-guessing. Let's establish a philosophical framework in which to place our progress rather than proceeding blindly, clinging to an intuition which may no longer serve us.

Sunday, December 11

The love cure

I only want to be taken seriously
Not a fly on the wall,
Not a kid in the hall

I think we all want to count for something
Own our bit of space in the world
The one true thing we have

But you're cold
You never let me in
When I'm cold

I just wanted a card
Or a potted plant
Or something to know you cared a little extra

I wanted someone who'd try to understand me
Put me on an even plane
Not peg me an eccentric

The world is a fast-moving place
It's a big race
That I don't want to run

Most people never connect to anyone else anyway
They all just do their own thing
Pretend to care when they have to.


You're good,
You're just like me.
You don't laugh
Or show compassion
When the mail comes
When a relative speaks
When the TV comes on.
You're right,
You're good
Just like I was in my time.
Just like I am now
You are an outsider
And therefore an insider
We stick together
We tend to know each other
Because we're all
Of the same species.
We breathe,
We're good
You are just like me.

What do these famous people have in common?

Virgina Woolf
Budd Dwyer
James Forrestal
Charlotte Perkins Gilman
Robert E. Howard
Chris Chubbuck
Vachel Lindsay
Sara Teasdale
James Whale

The days to come are a mirror of what is past

I'm vacillating back and forth
Can't seem to find a way through the eye of the needle
First it's off the ceiling then into the fire that lives beneath the ground
Tell you the truth: the ceiling's 4 feet high
I don't know why

I'm undulating up and down
Don't know when I'll get to take these decorations down
One day you move in and all your happiest days are ahead of you
The next they're looming like soul-stealing shadows all in a row
In front of you.


What am I going to do? I've already had an ECT. I've been on so many medications. Seen shrinks. I've been cared for by so many people. I want to give up. I'm scared. What am I going to do when everything's been tried? Where can I possibly turn for comfort? For answers? What if I'm just truly at the end of the line, and nothing anyone can do or say no matter how much they love me and no matter how much money they have will help me get out of the bottomless hole I'm living in?

Usually in order, but not today

I'm just throwing stuff up here while I have the chance, I guess. I'll sort it all out later or something.


I wish there were no computers
No gunpowder
No plastic
Babies aren't real
They toss and turn and they cry but
Believe me, believe when I say
They can no longer feel
This world has lost its ability to care

Danny was in love with the sea
He filled his pockets with rocks and joined the screams
Of seagulls, the cries of eagles fell on me
When white curled water took him away
It was like growing up
Throwing up
Refusing to believe there was something beyond
The make believe

I wish there were no televisions
No politicians
No plastic
Love is never real
When it has to be explained
Believe me, there are worse ways to go than
On the surf at high tide in the noontime
With the sun on your shoulders.

Saturday, December 10


my heart's up in my throat again
going to spit it out and all the fast flames
vomit a taste
acid is up in my throat and i feel like screaming again

don't do this to me

don't want to take the bus home
it'll only make my skin crawl and shiver
the gasoline swamps between here and forever
are multiplying
coming alive where the sun dies
into a river of oil

it only takes a month to see how insignificant i am
fear of death is behind and underneath
and coats my future

forget the future

forget the future
the sound of someone losing their mind

messy moods, it’s so easy to stumble
trip over nothing at all

one more time and i’m gonna snap
this thing is killing me

left unmedicated
i start coming apart at the seams

left unmedicated
the world starts coming apart at the seams

don’t say anything to me
don’t help me not to fall

i’m dying
all over myself and i’m screaming and crying
and i’m afraid of myself

what does it take before
they take away your license to live?

voice pierces the night
full of steam – feels like the end of the road
in a dirty black world where nothing works
and the stars all glow and go out

left behind
god damned pride
it took me a thousand smiles to get them to leave
my heart is black and broken, i don’t
want to drift on this tide anymore
without spotting land
i want to pull out the plug

i don’t know where to land
maybe push my face under

i’ve been dreaming my whole life
the dream-bottle is empty

people hold each other and laugh
and then move on down the sidewalk
people get into cars

the door to the pizza parlor blows
warm air into the night
and greedily closes
holding it’s cheer inside
where families gather famished around food smells
and candlelight

a man on a bicycle is asking
an old man in a track suit something i can’t hear

a stench rises from the grate in the gutter
and heat escapes from beneath me
but it never warms me up anymore
the grass stretches beneath the light towers
in front of the bleachers
it never cheers me up anymore

a girl spreads greasy lipstick on her face
her friend is posing and grimacing so full
of fuck you independence
she’s hugging close to the other’s side
a boy is leering from the street
they pretend not to see him
but their eyes are wide

and shot with venom

i’ve absorbed paintings
listened to that old black dog rock and roll
dumped the posturing and the ramrod
sense of solving
that huge hole of mystery
into calculators
and it always came up zero
i’ve blasted my loneliness with films
and with chocolate and alcohol and with
every other molecule i could think of
i’ve swallowed pills
sprinted till my heart was failing
slept so many days i couldn’t say
i’ve come so close so many times
and it’s always come up zero

burned out on doctors
protective mothers
silent partners
burnt out on going through tiny hoops
never changing
burned out on life’s colors
spilling all over me
tired of getting up in the morning wondering
when it will be time for bedtime
tired of falling asleep at night dreading
the coming of the daytime

the true end of the road isn’t fun
it was better in the beginning
it would be better still
had it not begun

it’s hard always being on the run
from everything
all the time

god be merciful and take me away
do that much for me

I’m not even a very good poet

i’ve been dreaming my whole life
the dream-bottle is empty


Somebody, somebody
Please help, please help
I can't take it anymore, can't do it myself
I don't know what to do, what to do
I don't want to be locked up, locked away
Can't see the sun or find my own way
But I need help, I need help
I can't do it anymore, can't do it anymore
Please somebody, please somebody
Please help me, please help me.

Thursday, December 8

To those...

Who want to read, and not dally, please read all. Just made this public...what was I not thinking.

To those who want to read and understand, who are slowed down by time, who will breathe relief when the sun debuts tomorrow: read on.

The way forward is painted red

I can get pretty course of course. Lately especially I seem to lack that flair for the right word, or even the sense to obstruct what I know to be garbage. This post should be evidence enough. I can get pretty rough and disgorged. I just hope that those who are not around me blinded by personal pity can in some way see. Pin this up at an art museum. Make fun of it. But in the white space comfort in it.

I don't like people very much, especially the ones who are not like me. But the funny thing is, I want to like people so much. I have so much love to give. But like Lucifer I wanted more. The Devil was only the angel who wanted More. Who felt he was owed an explanation, who wanted something beyond subservience and worship and canned answers. Can we really blame him for taking matters into his own hands? Can we blame him for refusing to play along?

Well yes, red. Well done, well yes, blue. I am like that mythical beast, unicorn, never seen but dreamed. Dreaming. Dreaming. I am like you but I am always dreaming. The way forward is painted red.


Thank you
For the comfort you have lent me
And never asked me to return
When things around me burned
I could do more than just smash and shrilly
Scream names in Latin smattered hate
It was nice to hear that drone
When I was alone

So thank you for the careful reasoning
Imparted in your chords, forget the words
Went on and on, showed me something
I'd forgotten about being a child
Life wasn't good and clean then, it was
Like a dumpster no one emptied for an eternity
But it was real
And I could feel it.

Haunted by a face

What is it about the human face, and the voice, which enable them to be so alluring at times? Why more than any other traits do we remember these ones? There are uncountable possible combinations genetically. But for some reason certain combinations trigger something deep, something hard-wired within us. In a more romantic sense, they inspire us to greater deeds and heighten our emotions. They've led men to their doom, launched fleets and set fire to hearts.

We don't even have to know the person, although the more contact there is (to a point) the more those wiles have a chance to wreak their effects. Still, it is possible to become infatuated with someone you've only met in passing, or only seen briefly, or only seen in movies or concerts or whatever. Obviously some people are more apt to succumb to these virtual raptures than others. As long as we have a chance to observe their mannerisms for a time, we can begin to construct our own model of the personality behind them. The fascination is in what we imagine them to be like inside; our expectations may seem confirmed by subtle facial gestures and chosen words.

The vast number of people get filtered out, caught in the net of our sense of imperfection. She's got a funny nose, his head's way too big. She has no interest in reading, he's doesn't listen well. But once in awhile someone slips through all these subconscious filters and makes us stand up and take notice. We try desperately to find something wrong with them, and almost panic when we can't. How is it possible? we think. How am I going to find a way to stay close to this person, to get to know them more? How can I prevent them from just walking away and leaving me wondering?

Then the self-doubt sets in: Yeah, but do they think I'm perfect? Surely not. Why would someone like that want to associate with me? Why would they have anything like the same curiosities, the same attraction that I do? How should I act? What kind of person do they like? And so on and so on until you botch up your plan to stay away from pretentions and affectations, and they split on you anyway, and now you feel even worse about yourself and love (if that's the word) in general. But while it lasts the feeling is more wonderful than anything else you can find in the world.


Sometimes I think I resist getting a job just to see how other people treat me. On the whole I don't think it actually makes any significant contribution to my decision, but it is interesting to observe other people's reactions. It's amazing how many people don't seem to realize that people are themselves no matter what they're earning. People will tell you all kinds of noble-sounding things, but when it comes down to tin tacks, they treat you much better if you're earning a "respectable wage" than if you're working a menial job or not working at all. Society's attitudes toward income level, towards "class," filter down into individual minds. When I was earning good money and bore the evidence of it on and around my person, I wielded much greater power over others. I don't know what combination of respect, jealously, obsequiousness, and automatic association of means with authority comes into play in the minds of people when they are confronted by such a person. It certainly speaks volumes about their nature.

Persuasion by softball bat

Everything's fine
There's a long time,

Just for now,
This morning I will
Enjoy myself.

There's a decade to go before
And cruel night.

All obsessions, wait
Here we are now
In the arms of the sun.

Persuasion means,
The things you want to believe yourself.

There's a lifetime to go before
And maybe a new morning.

Just for now,
I am here
In the arms of the sun.

Persuasion means,
The only things between us anymore
The way the words cannot be heard
That smile you make to hide the truth
A soul is lost between the two.

Persuasion means,
The things you want to believe yourself.

Wednesday, December 7

In defense of negativity

No one likes negativity. But it's necessary. It's necessary to provide a foil against which to measure happiness. Necessary to preserve the balance. And there's a beauty in darkness, no use denying it. Negativity isn't to be sought or envied, just recognized as valid. It's more than an artifact of broken moods, an absence of goodness. Hindus called it Shiva, the Destroyer, and hold it in the same esteem as Brahma, the Preserver. Things have to die to be reborn. Rain must fall before the sun can break through.

My identity was forged in the land of the minus sign, and I've corralled comfort from the depths of darkness when others ran tail between legs. It's the struggle to find a way to live with this unruly roommate that I believe shapes our characters and allows us to reach for greater understanding, and deeper peace. Many of us are born very flexible or are forced to become street smart at an early age. Some of us are not, though, and learning that darkness is a part of life is a bitter pill to swallow. Certainly the lesson is a slow, painful one for me. As always, acceptance of what actually is, rather than what should be, is the first step in proceeding.

When they come for me

When they come for me
I will be far, far away
My words are simple
Try to do the same

And when they come for me,
If anyone remembers my name
It will be with a bad taste
And no understanding
No understanding

I've been to Odessa
I've been to Cherkassy
I've been to Kiev
I've been to Zagreb
I've been to Moscow
I've been to Berlin
I've been to Belgrade
I've been to Stuttgart
I've been to Zurich
I've been to Vienna
And I've never been home

So when they come for me
Don't wake me up
The horizon is close enough as it is
Don't take your eyes off mine

It's just a big hole we fill and fill
With faraway looks and old guitar strings
The smell of opportunity
Burning in some old yard
Beyond the reach of our wildest dreams.

Monday, December 5


Why do things seem so different from one day to the next? Really, really different. Sometimes I feel like I can see clearly, see through some kind of fog I've been living in and didn't even know it. A burst of clarity. And it's horrifying - I hate who I am. Other days things seem so clear in a completely different way, and I feel ok about myself but it seems like the world is out to get me. I try telling myself it's not true but everything I experience during the day seems to reaffirm it. It feels so real. Then another day I realize it can't possibly be real, and everything becomes utterly clear in yet another context. What is the truth?! I'm going crazy just trying to be an authentic person and to deal with life as it really is. And yet the evidence all points toward my not having a consistent clue about it.

The truth

I'm a complete waste. Everyone surely thinks I am, and I know it to be true. Don't know why I keep fooling myself that I can "pull out" of's who I am, not some temporary condition. I'm such an egotistical, deluded, self-centered jerk. I've been so selfish my whole life. I've used people to get what I want, to find comfort, to stay away from unpleasantness. How can I ever atone? I've already fucked up everything I possibly could. I was a shitty dad and a shitty husband. I've been a bad son and a bad friend. I've failed at everything I've tried. I've lain around feeling sorry for myself and looking for a way out instead of having the courage to follow others' leads and carry on with business. If I didn't want to do that, I should have ended it long ago. The worst thing to do was to stay around and suck up resources, to mistreat people, to be so goddamn egocentric. It's no wonder I hardly know anyone. I've left a trail of misery and broken hearts behind me. Beyond that, probably lots of relief or indifference. I've sought approval, comfort, affection my whole life. I've never found enough. You can never find enough. People are born looking certain ways; that can be fixed. They have difficulty with certain subjects; that can be fixed. They have few means at their disposal; that can be fixed. I don't think I can be fixed. I'm a cruel, fake, miserable person with no idea how to please anyone but myself, and then act indignant about it. I'm manipulative. I'm so ashamed of myself. I hate myself with every fiber of my being. I'm always the last to know the truth - what people really think about me, what really happened somewhere at some time. My memory can't be trusted at all. I seem to have this image in my head of my place in the world, and a script of past events, and it's all complete bullshit. It's not true, but it seems to me like it is. That's why I say I'm deluded. I don't know why I view reality through this bizarre filter, but it's just one more flaw atop the dungheap. I've been childish, petty, demanding, untruthful, irresponsible. I've been awful. In my quest for some abstract perfection I've somehow managed to do just about every single thing wrong.


I feel best when I adhere to a routine, and the more time this goes on, the more confortable I become. It's my aversion to change. I'm very insecure and change is a threat. It makes me think, opens up the whole can of worms again and challenges me to understand and solve it all. On the positive side, existing within a structure - as long as it's one of my choosing and not forced on me - allows me to relax and let go of those neurotic obsessions for a time. I feel better about myself, more comfortable in my skin. If I eat and sleep better, if I exercise and brush my teeth every morning and shower and dress and get things done that need doing, I feel more invigorated and encouraged in general, and rather than crashing from exhaustion I tend to get a bit of a boost and pursue other activities that seemed too intimidating before. It doesn't solve any philosophical problems and it doesn't protect me from sudden intrusions of what's-it-all-mean, but in the meantime I can get off the couch and stop worrying and actually live a little.


Patriotism is about as empty and ridiculous as religion is. Why would you draw a line around a large segment of the world's population, nearly all of whom you've never met, and decide "these are my people," while the masses that fall outside the line get to be the untrustworthy foreigners. I know it goes deeper than such a conscious decision, reflecting a common culture we were brought up with, and that familiarity brings comfort. But familiarity also breeds contempt, and there are certainly times when I feel that anyone and anywhere not part of America must be preferable to this lot I'm surrounded by.

But such negative patriotism is just as foolish. In the end, people are all of a species, and to praise one group or blast another en masse is naive. The only justifiable stance is to react to those you've met personally and let the rest of the world exist free of judgment. There is no us and them, there is only each and every one of us jostling about trying to find our way in life, motivated by the same basic needs and confronting many of the same challenges. Provincialism is one of those relics of our animal past that ends up working against us in the modern world.

Crackly fires

Something about dry heat...crackly wood...We must be predisposed to liking fires or something. Of course most all animals love warmth. Warmth speeds up chemical reactions, which fire the metabolism, which enables life to get on with its little game that much quicker. But beyond that humans seem too have an inborn attraction to open flames. Sitting at home with the heater on bathed in an even warmth is just not the same as huddling around a wood stove or a campfire, one side toasty and the other cold, mesmerized by dancing flames and exploding pockets of sap. It feels primal, like runner's high or deep hunger.

Standards going downhill

God I'm self-absorbed. I think it's a natural consequence of isolating myself. I don't consciously try to focus on myself to the exclusion of all else. Well, I guess I do. I don't know. It's not that I enjoy my own company or think I'm worth a damn. Probably the opposite. I can never make up my mind how to be otherwise, and to see all the people running around the world living their lives and getting on, not crippled by fear, not frozen because they can't figure out why the first step of the 1,000 mile journey should be taken. I suppose I envy them at some level, certainly I don't understand them. I don't understand anyone or anything. I'm self-absorbed by default because my own head is the only thing I'm familiar with, and even most of that eludes me.

Saturday, December 3


People just want things to go right
Be happy, unobstrusive, easy
No one wants to walk the darker road

People talk about finding the balance
But they don't believe in balance
They only like you when you're happy

When you're down and out
They feel sorry for you and try to
Make you feel better so you'll be happy again

But they don't really understand
They're not interested in talking to you for real
Hearing what it is you're trying to say

Does anyone recognize what's going on around us
On this spinning earth, the kinds of
Uncomfortable grief that batters

The poor and the homeless, and the man
Who has not learned how to ignore pain
Or the woman who is a slave to instinct?

I'm sorry if my life isn't Disney-certified
I won't always have pleasant things to say
Or be easy listening

I'm sorry if I cry or get exasperated
Or mourn the general loss of dignity
In this cruel world

But that's real
It's what's really going on
I couldn't feel okay with myself

If I ignored those feelings
Or acted any other way
Or forced a smile on a bad situation.

Friday, December 2

The way...?

I feel like my mind may be truly healing. There are still cracks in the vase, as it were, but I find more often that I am able to sustain longer periods of stability, even moments of happiness. And when things do plunge into those frightening depths now, I usually pull out of it in a day or so. I can only imagine what life would be like without depression and fear... it seems great. I hope I can keep getting better. It's nice not always being frightened. That's been the biggest thing: I'm not always scared now, just sometimes.

Thursday, December 1


A morning of dust, blown across my eyes;
I've been trying to focus on translating
the great wisdom I know lives in my heart;

I've been after authenticity-
some sort of truth,
but not Truth;

I want to know what I do know
and let the rest jostle and float downstream
like crimson and yellow leaves;

Oh Elegia, can't you see-
It's going to be too late for us!

In the morning,
I had my hat on backwards
My eyes on the future;

You were insensitive
Like you always are.

Was the Bible written as a joke?

With every new scientific advance, explaining some aspect of reality in terms of natural causes, people cry out "what about God? Where is God in this new understanding?" What do they mean, exactly? Are people so desperate to be subservient to something? Is God just another parent? Besides, God is still there if you want him, but why would you?

It might be useful to say that all of reality as we know it may be either explainable or unexplainable. If it is unexplainable, then we cannot progress any further in our attempts to understand it; there is nothing to understand. Religion explanations would remain feasible and attractive, and so would a brand of science that holds form right up to the present but suddenly falls completely apart tomorrow; as well as any other cosmology one could possibly imagine. But again it is not profitable to speculate on these things - no 'theory' is possible of a completely unpredictable system.

If reality is explainable, there is still an infinite array of possibilities as to the nature of that explanation. A religion that claims everything happens as a result of divine will is explainable only in the broadest sense, but cannot say much more than that, since such a divinity may change its mind capriciously. Thus, this type of reality is only a step from an inexplicable chaos. To truly achieve an explainable universe - a deterministic universe - we must insist that cause precede event, and that natural law govern the two. This is not to say that this is indeed the case, but it makes for the most sensible universe (literally, one we can make 'sense' of). It is satisfying to the mind, which is accustomed to the logic of cause and event and predictability (if only in the lesser statistical form allowed by quantum mechanics and complexity) from its experience with everyday life. Rocks fall when dropped.

In the infinite scope of possibilities, it is certainly possible that the Christian God exists, that he created the earth and man and planted fossils in the hills to test our faith and that he cares whether or not we believe in him and that we worship and obey him for some reason. Possible, but OVERWHELMINGLY unlikely. Why would someone single out this particular explanation out of an infinite number of others, and give over one's life and mind to it? For comfort, presumably, to cease the uncomfortable process of wondering. But certainly not for intellectual reasons. Why not (as others have asserted) a flying spaghetti monster instead of a Christian god? Why not creatures from another planet seeding ours? Why not any of the literally inifinite number of explanations that could be advanced which require no proof but only faith?

The one tool we have in our biologically-limited arsenal with which to try to understand the world around us is science. That is, our own senses. We implicitly accept what our eyes see, what our ears hear, what our hands touch. And we use that other innate faculty, reason, to try to piece this sensory information together and draw conclusions about it. The process is far from perfect, and many people will disagree even over basic sensory information, not to mention its interpretation. But it is all we have to go by, apart from that bewildering infinite array of speculation.

Unless we wish to surrender all efforts at making sense of things (a Buddhist view that is often very appealing to me), we have to use the tools we have at our disposal, and the only tools we have are our senses and our reason. They are the only tools allowed in the philosophy of science. Imagination is not expressly forbidden but must be tested by these other tools. Religion and other supernatural phenomena are by their nature untestable, so they cannot be meaningfully discussed scientifically. Neither proved nor disproved. They remain speculations, articles of faith, and why anyone would choose one of these scenarios over any other baffles me.


My mind is a storm
I can't find shelter
Thoughts hit me from every angle
Make me feel like I am falling

Or being strangled
Under all the layers of politeness
Insecurity, delusion
Confused antisocial posturing
Honesty to others but not to self

Under all the faces and images
And shells
What is the truth of the matter?
Does truth even reside here,
Or just lie there and die there?


I wish I were a gentleman astronomer, an armchair historian, an amateur chemist. All that romance holds, it holds for me. But time is late and it seems I was not born under the right combination of stars. My discipline is rotten; my mood vascillates. My energy reserves were depleted when I slid into the world, and I have not found the fuel to recharge them. I feel like a victorian recluse scientist trapped in a postmodern urban hell.

Une ménagerie des modes

Flooded with endorphins. Feeling heroic and romantic. Feel good, right. The natural way to happiness is surely the best way. I can appreciate the subtle grace of the evening, there are no dogs at my heels to drag me down.

I want to catch that spark of love again, take her out and spend a fortune on her. Want to revel in tranquil pleasure, curl against the dry heat of a stove, lift an old book to my eyes. A cabin of delight, snow outside.

Pity about change.

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