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April 11, 2004

Easter.

I'm filled with joy.

A day of beauty.

Etc and etc.

Hardy fucking har.

In years past I've experienced opening, been given release.    Having hung on the cross of my self, and dying, then into the beauty, new life.

No beauty this day, no surcease the pain, the roaring, twisting, burning, empty ache, howling, 'Why have you forsaken me?!?'

This isn't fun; you perhaps wondered....

I've gotten the symbols of suffering out of here.

Fuck crosses.

But I can only clear the space - the guy was clear on this piece.

I can't make it happen.

It's grace.

A gift.