Now I know that I will die.

My body ages faster than the days, and not one sincere thought will nest in the brain of a half-formed mind.

I have pains where once lurked only folly.

I try to keep my head up.

I find it honourable to drink too much.

What is an honourable life but to do what is given a man to do?

I am given a black pond.




The mad laughter of drunks.

The outsized falling cones of the Bunya Bunya tree which seek to squash unsuspecting infants in their prams.

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