no_handbook ever dumbening nothing prepares us for everything, as a lazy sunday lunch fills with words, sticky words. no finity of ways the wind can shift, so even the house with liquid walls will fall, and again. no mind, nevermind. and just because the flesh can absorb withstand yield many flying steels doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. doesn't mean it doesn't bring pause, give pause to the string of days whose total is only talliable after the non-existant guide leaves himself in search of yet another unknown. 030330 ... god let me take you to the mall 030330 what's it to you? who go blather from