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Somewhere in between shadow and shadow, there is a darker shadow cast by the questions that loom just south of nowhere, and therein lie the answers that lead to more wondering. 


It is the whisper of the demons and the fear of the angels, who are always less interesting than the demons and not nearly as loyal. The clouds of joy, the rain of truth, and the sunlight of forever conspire to make us want to should in a whisper at the whole world and alter the death spiral that modern society creates, as our horrible howling tempest engulfs the outer edges of the earth's atmosphere, spinning it backward, not in time like Superman did, but in value. 


If you find yourself trying to make sense of it, for gods' sake, shoot me an email: