Some of the brave have replied to my proposal with their own tales of love. A love's value cannot be assessed by an outside observer, but a good love story has the power to transport the reader. You have ten days to vote for the author whose of tale of love moved you the most.

True poetry does not die; it continues to speak to us--to our soul, if you believe in that word. A friend of mine came across this piece recently. It can not be called poetry in the classic sense: its demand for an answer is too real.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There is something for you, but you must be able to open it. If you know your Job well, the magic will do the trick.

A
My spirit is broken,
my days are cut short,
the grave awaits me.

B
You have closed their minds to understanding;
therefore you will not let them triumph.

C
My eyes have grown dim with grief;
my whole frame is but a shadow.

D
turn night into day;
in the face of the darkness light is near.

E
if I say to corruption, ‘You are my father,'
and to the worm, ‘My mother' or ‘My sister,'

F
Will it go down to the gates of death?
Will we descend together into the dust?"

When you are done, send me your answer. The correct one will take a gift.
[email protected]

Now that it is mine, I want this program to have a good shell. Remember, you have until midnight of next Monday, the 20th, to submit your design to liaison Toluca. Do not fail me like the others.

Why do I trouble myself so for a fool who would throw his life away? I will have to watch him much more closely.

I may have underestimated him. There was something in his manner... Perhaps he is not so stupid after all. He could be even more useful--and more dangerous--than I thought.

The Unlimit pig is ours. Soon his body will give up its secrets. And my husband now owes me a considerable favor.

Men--always hungering to grasp the pretty object dangled before them. Both the Unlimit pig and my husband will find that it is not so simple as that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roses are red, Violets are blue... Blue? Shouldn't they be violet? Well, that's of no concern to you. Your concern, primarily, should be on the colors red and blue. Take a hint, Jack, mix 'em up and hitch a magic carpet ride to parts you may know. Take a look at this little map, one of my masterpieces I crafted just for you:

All journeys must start somewhere; your second starts at the triangle. Let the man on the moon be your guide. Once you have reached the end of your trip, you'll have the keys to unlock the doorway to your final destination. A word of warning, Jack: even a simple route from A to B can turn into a monumental voyage.

Tell me, "Red Pills," where you wind up. As always, just for you, first past the finishing line wins a little something...

Salera

The recording of culture is history;
but our history is more than that.
Not simple dates or statistics,
the full horror and gore still attracts.

It's the history of now, the history of now.
A strange contradiction that makes sense somehow.
It's the history of now, a mystery and shroud.
The past and the future: best fiction allowed.