March 23rd, 2003 - 1:02 p.m.

Once upon a time. No, not that time.

Wrote a love letter based on numbers, minutes, seconds and titles. Constructed of everyone else's words but own. Was not in love, merely infatuated.

But conceptual messages, like conceptual art, is the refuge of brilliance seeking encaverned ease. Lost in the beauty of consonants, and forgetting the romantic inflections of vowel. Mathematical essay without bothering to answer.

N.

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