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On this breezy October morn, I walk
in the swift shadows of cloud-cursing rooks,
watching the world wake on the horizon.
All houses wherein men have lived and died
Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
With feet that make no sound upon the floors.
We meet them at the doorway, on the stair,
Along the passages they come and go,
Impalpable impressions on the air,
A sense of something moving to and fro.
Recently a certain someone told me that an acquaintance of hers on the net (indeed this very net) had questioned my very existence.
But as a scientist I can assure you all that I do not exist and neither do any of you.
Read more here: You don't exist
So yes, @aladdin
this is my very non-self communicating with your own nihility
Post edited by pryfllwyd on