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epistle log 10n
noody blose
so there i was, listening to good ol' Algrehn preach on about saints & heretics when, all of a sudden, a drip larger than a drop but yet still a single entity, shall we call it a droop? -- when, all of a sudden a droop of blood loosed itself from some obscure nasal cavity and found its state of lowest potential upon my notepage open in front of me. this is not oh so surprising as no doubt my iron level is deficient (along with most other things in my blood chemistry i might imagine), and yet i sat transfixed, looking at it, watching it coagulate, staring into it, catching my reflection in it, like peering into your soul. seeing yourself in your own blood . . . that's even better than when the red cross will let you hold a bag of your own blood after you donate it . . . now there's something ¿anachronistic? not really, but that's the best way i can describe that feeling of blatantly defying nature's order by willingly holding that much blood outside of your body: the humility of such a thing, realizing what a loose web of cells we really are.
so staring at that perfectly irregular red spot between the pretty blue lines and far from the crowded cadence of sweeping jolting curves
isolated, defiant, discordant
alive
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