Yellow Ananda

Welcome to my east-looking garden.

Tricky cassus belli, unplanned consequences. The game robs us of our wits.

2024.11.09

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A tapestry of made-up stories. Logical fantasies, shame-bound illusions. An epic tale of triviality.

2024.11.08

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Tingles in my head, misattuned. Bathed in the yellow sunlight, I feel indigo.

2024.11.07

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Overwhelming demands, fragile knees cracking. Átlās, Christóphoros , Karuátides! Refuse to bear the world, and bear witness instead.

2024.11.06

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If your Brass-God could dance, perhaps even M'aiq would believe in it. Zero-sum games are exhausting.

2024.11.05

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Does he wake, or sleep? The nightingales are probably neither alive nor dead.

2024.11.04

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You sigh in yearning, but I'm the one confused. If these dreams made any sense, I'd make a tapestry of them. Instead, I replay them in my head like a lunatic.

2024.11.03

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Rust in my palette, like dust on my fingerprints. If my morning brew can help me see with clarity, I may survive this day.

2024.11.02

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Suspension of disbelief under the new moon.

2024.11.01

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A cycle ends, with ease and grace. Hints of cinnamon, calming incense; a new wheel to turn.

2024.10.31

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