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THE REINVENTION OF BROKEN DREAMS

“The Reinvention of Broken Dreams” holds within its heart the twin polarities of life and death.

For a time, it smells of age and dusty relics. Like forgotten elders it creaks, and crawls, and groans, crying out, beneath the weight of yesterdays. It contains within itself a vestige of all that went before and it yields neither hope nor faith in the future

I think I hear its death rattle coming, a final, ponderous shutter forever and not so far away.

But then the device slogs on and life surges forth, clanking noiselessly away. Even until it is beyond the night, it clanks and invents and reinvents its dreams. Pushing one and pulling another, till broken and not, they are all joined together, one to the other, all one and the same. Twisting them into a confection both bitter and sweet, night and day, awake and in sleep, the machine endures.

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THE LIFE AND DEATH OF PIE THE ARTIST IN POLITE SOCIETY

Early on, I naturally assumed my own social problems lay directly within my character. I attributed my inability to function to some sort of inherited condition in the family ……a genetic abnormality or something.

Would that it were so simple.

While I do not want to negate my personal deficiencies, it is clear that my problems were greatly exacerbated as soon as I began to identify with artists.

And once I crossed the threshold and began calling myself an artist, the maladjustment noose began to tighten precipitously.

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THE RIMADYL MURDER PLOT PART 2

In fact, Maggie seized upon one activity or another her whole life in an attempt to overcome her feelings of low self worth.

Nothing had really worked until finally she took up eating and sleeping.

“This is what I was meant to do” Maggie had announced to the world.

“I feel truly alive when I eat, then lay down for a nap.”

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THE RIMADYL MURDER PLOT PART 1

Perhaps it was a bit of all of these unpleasant traits, or it was something else…….something indefinable that caused him to break. But Dudley had had enough.

Though he tried hard not to show his true feelings, and continued to boyishly bite at her tail on their walks in the park, (a practice he had started when they first met), deep in the recesses of his soul, it was contempt that he felt, contempt as wide as the river he could see from the park.

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SPAM I HAVE KNOWN AND LOVED

I have what I consider a very strong intuitive sense about such things. And as quickly as the idea occurred to me I was convinced that it was true.

In fact, I had what can best be called a vision of poor Janet shackled to her bed in a dimly lit, damp, Akron Ohio basement, being fed old left- over BLT sandwiches from Denny’s.

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