If you hush real quiet and you listen real slow, you’ll find there’s a sense of rhythm to the world. It’s there in the trees, in the ocean, in the sky on your sad October day, and it beats in time with the music of motion. Motion, motion, motion: tick, tock, tick. Have you ever heard that song in the middle of the night, well on your way to sleep amidst the faeries and daemons of your childhood past?
Listen to the silence. Listen, listen, listen. It has lots to tell you and you have lots to hear.
How often do you lie? Every day, every hour, every second? How big do you lie? How far and how wide?
To whom do you lie? (With whom do you lie, alone and well on your way?) About what do you lie?
There is no such thing as nothing. “It’s the silence between the notes that makes the music.”
How often do you try?
Do you try to try? Do you try to try to try? How many tries does it take to tell
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