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2002-05-08

Henry David Thoreau
B. 7.12.1817 Concord / D. 5.6.1862 Concord
Tuberculosis

Another page that looks like it was written from prison. Between black bars of out-scoring five or six phrases peek through—so few, but crowded. I must be strict.
Stand upon your dignity—I dare you!
(Is it mosquito season in May? What was that fleeting form I can’t un-crush? Will it be this summer then—the revolution in comfort—general misfortune trailing the few’s stark afflictions like Bolshevist hordes their handfuls of spies?)
All you ingrates and infant-heads—lumpen-kind! Tell me I’m the problem.
Another squall of hectoring voices moves on; but my own meditations sermonize me so, what’s the difference? How did that indelible lesson from childhood go: Internalize internalize internalize! Four walls with no roof and no end—I need a new structure.
Demand and receive my confession. . .on second thought, suck harder on your memories of my apologetic tone.

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