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To leave behind a body of work, a crown of memory. A new beginning awaits. Work is ceaseless, even in the heavens. But I will never truly tire. Lost my breath, back against the wall, knife to the neck, yet I remain, alive and living.

Set straight by the tyranny of the world, overbearing mother, to demand much of myself. As the world asks more. Drink those cups quickly, all nine, and get lost. To sell yourself short, horse for a hen. Muddled mind, a mouth off the leash. What I did, who I was.

But I will be who I will be. I will be when I will be. I will be where I will be.

I will begin anew, an infant universe. A brave new world.

1992, that will come later.

05.04.2021