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This morning, I was awake until almost 2 AM working on my mag trainer routines. A bit odd, I suppose, and certainly unwise.

But besides wanting to be ready, for the inevitable falling leaves and fading of light of the changing seasons, the loom-ing inaccessibility of the paved streets and roadways that have helped me skirt the utter insanity of these times, I love crafting this interplay of minutes and seconds with ratios of gears, the turning and meshing of physical things in the framework of time.

The truly odd thing about this is that this is not something that I'm good at, cannot conceptualize beyond the next mechanical step, the next backspace and insertion, the next mark on the page.

Yet I find such poetry in it--on the printed page and in the sense that my heart and lungs and legs will make of it as they bring to life what is on that page.

On the other hand, I seem to have picked up another dry cough--somewhere out on that highway that I so much want to keep riding on--and probably should have gone to bed at an earlier time...

LPK
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thisnewday

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