Number Seventy-Six

Which is to say. . .

Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport—Oh! with whom
But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind—
But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss!—That thought’s return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart’s best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

Number Seventy-Five

Though it's updated every day, sometimes I forget this blog exists.

Number Sixty-Seven

He doesn’t believe in the cosmic significance of coincidence. But whenever he deviates from his routine, something beyond his control goes haywire. He changes outfit unexpectedly before leaving the house and his train is out of service or he gets a bad phone call.

He's also the quintessential Aquarius.

Number Fifty

There are no Google results for " Look, an approaching camel!"

Number Forty-Four

Water and shaving in the morning.
Is this what people do?

If so,
What people?

And why?

Number Thirty

I think I'm doing Twitter all wrong.

Number Twenty-Two

The beauty of being a degenerate is that no one invites you to speak at the local high school.

Number Twenty

Lunar New Year!

Number Seventeen

There are no Google results for "sexy bitches named Fred"

Number Eleven

What is needed is a world-directed buddhism. Like Nietzsche's.