Sunday, February 7, 2010


Time is always running out, she said. Has always been.
We’re forever on the brink of disaster.
It used to be better then, much better. In that unspecified distance of time, that unnamed expanse of past, those acres of unploughed, nay, unexisting memory.
Nuclear winter; stray meteors; climate change; advanced forms of socialism.
Always the brink, the eve, the dance at the edge of the crater, at the very fringe of believability.

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