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July 27, 2005

Volume 4, Issue 27

The theme for the day is the word wind.

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The Eschatologist: Dreams of a Lost World

The art deco spire of Empire State loomed in the distance, floating closer. The cloud deck was low and frustrating, but halogens on the mooring arm cut through the mist, paving a way to the tower. A quiet night air enhanced the chill.

The zeppelin slowed ponderously, and mooring lines were thrown onto the Number 1 ramp.

A sudden wind, unforeseen, split the fog into shards and caught the lazy zeppelin, slamming it against the building, halogens tearing through the canvas.

There are few sights described as terrifyingly beautiful. Watching helplessly as a flaming airship crashes is one of them.

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Michele: Bad Luck Wind Blowing At My Back

Aunt Marsha said, “Your doors shouldn’t be lined up. A Good Luck wind will come in the front door and go right out the back.”

We decided to outsmart the wind. On Sunday, it howled through the front door and Aunt Marsha said “It feels like Good!” Meryl ran down the hall, slammed the back door shut, capturing Good Luck in the house.

We waited for the luck to start.

The stove exploded. We waited.

The ceiling caved in. We waited.

The bathroom flooded. We waited.

Aunt Marsha said,”Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.”

So I killed her.

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Ted: Sailing Against the Tide

The wind was off the port quarter, making the little Cape Dory lively. She was a yar little boat, cozy but fully rigged. The auto-winding sails made her a joy to pilot on even the slightest breeze. When a strong western wind would blow in, I would wind out the spinnaker and zip along at almost 20 knots. This could have been my retirement at age 26, broken backed, but on the water. I could sail solo forever and fuck the Navy, I'd show them I still could.

Fate turned the tides on me, but I could fight the wind.

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