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June 20th 2010    Tim Candler

    Then there is plot with which to muddle comprehension.   My own favorite, of course, is the moon as flesh devoured and then replaced by the joy of fertility.   And one day we might be the dinosaurs with nothing to describe us. 

     I remember watching Sand Sharks massed in shallow sea.  From all around they had come to this one place to copulate.   Ancient creatures obeying ritual as they had done perhaps for millions of years.  Sleepy they were basking in the surf, close enough to touch, and the man I had conducted to this place wished he had gun so he could kill some.  

   He owned silver and a yacht and he wanted the seas to be safer.  My own choice would have been to feed him to Sand Sharks, but more likely had I done so there would have been unfortunate consequences for me.   My remaining years would have been spent behind walls, which would have given me his sad life to live.

    There is memory, though.  And in a circle there is always that grim demon, a pompous ass called plot. 

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