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FE4 THREAD


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As I step into this thread every time since that fateful day and observe the going ons of a typical day, I am not an observer any more, but I subconsciously think otherwise, however, I know that I can actually participate. Perhaps I might not choose to participate in certain events, some happenings, and other things I won't mention because it would take too much time, but still, I am here and I can post. It feels surreal. It feels unreal. It feels not of this world. But the reality is...that it is real.

I'm not sure what I just typed.

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As I step into this thread every time since that fateful day and observe the going ons of a typical day, I am not an observer any more, but I subconsciously think otherwise, however, I know that I can actually participate. Perhaps I might not choose to participate in certain events, some happenings, and other things I won't mention because it would take too much time, but still, I am here and I can post. It feels surreal. It feels unreal. It feels not of this world. But the reality is...that it is real.

I'm not sure what I just typed.

LOLWHUT

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As I step into this thread every time since that fateful day and observe the going ons of a typical day, I am not an observer any more, but I subconsciously think otherwise, however, I know that I can actually participate. Perhaps I might not choose to participate in certain events, some happenings, and other things I won't mention because it would take too much time, but still, I am here and I can post. It feels surreal. It feels unreal. It feels not of this world. But the reality is...that it is real.

I'm not sure what I just typed.

You just typed:

Rick Rude was anything but . . . rude. In any circle of friends and phonies, you take the good with the bad. And the bad makes you appreciate the good even more. At the height of my road days, when 300 flights in 300 towns a year was normal, strangers became family and family became strangers. You can't pick your family but you can pick your friends. Rick Rude was one of the best picks I ever made.

:wub: I'm so unhelpful :wub:

Edited by SeverIan
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As I step into this thread every time since that fateful day and observe the going ons of a typical day, I am not an observer any more, but I subconsciously think otherwise, however, I know that I can actually participate. Perhaps I might not choose to participate in certain events, some happenings, and other things I won't mention because it would take too much time, but still, I am here and I can post. It feels surreal. It feels unreal. It feels not of this world. But the reality is...that it is real.

I'm not sure what I just typed.

Hi.

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As I step into this thread every time since that fateful day and observe the going ons of a typical day, I am not an observer any more, but I subconsciously think otherwise, however, I know that I can actually participate. Perhaps I might not choose to participate in certain events, some happenings, and other things I won't mention because it would take too much time, but still, I am here and I can post. It feels surreal. It feels unreal. It feels not of this world. But the reality is...that it is real.

I'm not sure what I just typed.

<3

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As I step into this thread every time since that fateful day and observe the going ons of a typical day, I am not an observer any more, but I subconsciously think otherwise, however, I know that I can actually participate. Perhaps I might not choose to participate in certain events, some happenings, and other things I won't mention because it would take too much time, but still, I am here and I can post. It feels surreal. It feels unreal. It feels not of this world. But the reality is...that it is real.

I'm not sure what I just typed.

Pro poet.

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I feel like Edgar Allan Poe.

IMO you are more like William Blake.

Totally you:

Is this a holy thing to see

In a rich and fruitful land,

Babes reduced to misery,

Fed with cold and usurous hand?

Is that trembling cry a song?

Can it be a song of joy?

And so many children poor?

It is a land of poverty!

And their sun does never shine,

And their fields are bleak and bare,

And their ways are filled with thorns:

It is eternal winter there.

For where'er the sun does shine,

And where'er the rain does fall,

Babes should never hunger there,

Nor poverty the mind appall.

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