Apparently this post was written in the future, the day before the winter solstice at 11:11...
In the Wind of the mind arises the turbulence called I. It breaks; down shower the barren thoughts. All life is choked. This desert is the Abyss wherein is the Universe. The Stars are but thistles in that waste. Yet this desert is but one spot accurséd in a world of bliss. Now and again Travellers cross the desert; they come from the Great Sea, and to the Great Sea they go.
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In the Wind of the mind arises the turbulence called I. It breaks; down shower the barren thoughts. All life is choked. This desert is the Abyss wherein is the Universe. The Stars are but thistles in that waste. Yet this desert is but one spot accurséd in a world of bliss. Now and again Travellers cross the desert; they come from the Great Sea, and to the Great Sea they go.
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