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  • NewcastleLondon

    Newcastle

    James Lloyd

  • NewcastleLondon

    Newcastle

  • October 09, 2014 06:38:48

  • October 09, 2014 06:39:35

  • October 09, 2014 06:39:36

  • October 09, 2014 06:43:53

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  • October 09, 2014 06:45:10

  • Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day

    Fritter and waste the hours in an off-hand way Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town Waiting for someone or something to show you the way

    Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today And then one day you find ten years have got behind you No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun

    And you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it's sinking

    Racing around to come up behind you again The sun is the same in a relative way, but you're older

    Shorter of breath and one day closer to death

    Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines

    Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way The time is gone, the song is over, thought I'd something more to say

    Home, home again

    I like to be here when I can When I come home cold and tired

    It's good to warm my bones beside the fire Far away, across the field

    The tolling of the iron bell Calls the faithful to their knees

    To hear the softly spoken magic spell

    Pink Floyd, Time

  • October 09, 2014 06:54:59

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  • Too bad. And Mozart, not long after writing The Magic Flute, had died--in his thirties--of kidney disease. And had been buried in an unmarked pauper's grave.

    Thinking this, he wondered if Mozart had any intuition that the future did not exist, that he had already used up his little time. Maybe I have too, Rick thought as he watched the rehearsal move along. This rehearsal will end, the performance will end, the singers will die, eventually the last score of the music will be destroyed in one way or another; finally the name "Mozart" will vanish, the dust will have won. If not on this planet then another. We can evade it awhile. As the andys can evade me and exist a finite stretch longer. But I will get them or some other bounty hunter gets them. In a way, he realized, I'm part of the form-destroying process of entropy.

    Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

    t

  • October 10, 2014 18:29:03

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