101 lines
3.0 KiB
HTML
101 lines
3.0 KiB
HTML
<!DOCTYPE html>
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<meta charset=utf-8>
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<title>whatever</title>
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<style>
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body{display:flex;flex-flow:row wrap;}
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section{max-width:68ch;margin:3ch;
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transition: all 0.4s;
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}
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h1,p{display:inline;}
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h1{font:italic 42px serif;}
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h1::after{content: ":";}
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p{font:24px/2 sans-serif;margin:5ch;border-bottom:24px solid pink;}
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.disappear { color: transparent; border: transparent;
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transition: all 0.4s;
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}
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</style>
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<script>
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var sections=document.getElementsByTagName("section");
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function randomizePlace() {
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for(var i=0;i<=sections.length;i++){
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var sec = sections[i];
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if(sec) {
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sec.style.order = Math.floor(Math.random() * sections.length);
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}
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}
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}
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window.onload = randomizePlace;
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</script>
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<section>
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<h1>whatever</h1>
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<p>
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I'm having trouble caring about much today.
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I don't know what to make of that, honestly.
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I just want to go home and watch <abbr title="television">TV</abbr>
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and think of nothing.
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Especially not my computer, sitting there in the office,
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quietly looming in my mind or whatever.
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I need to reinstall something.
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I need to spin my wheels some more.
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<p>
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I need to actually write something worthwhile
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that I want to maybe publish sometime.
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</section>
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<section>
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<h1>publish</h1>
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<p>
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So far I have self-published quite a lot of stuff.
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I have this page, my blog for example, and sundry others
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that might still be floating around somewhere.
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I write and re-write colorschemes and themes and stuff
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to match my mood,
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but it's just spinning wheels I feel like.
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<p>
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I've only really published,
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the kind of publishing where you have to actually get past someone else
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and they have to think you're good as well,
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a few times.
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Fewer if you don't count the ones by friends.
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Maybe even none at all.
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<p>
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Some of me wants to ignore aesthetic concerns,
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just get something <em>done</em> no matter the cost or the venue,
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but the bully part of me won't let it happen.
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</section>
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<section>
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<h1>steinmart</h1>
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<p>
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There were these paintings at Steinmart that were apparently done
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by real artists.
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I know that all of the nameless paintings in the bargain stores
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and motels and fast-food restaurants all over were, ultimately,
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done by someone, but these were named someones, with glossy photos
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of them in the corners of the paintings.
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<p>
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They were all by different people but they all looked the same.
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</section>
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<section>
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<h1>moving</h1>
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<p>
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There are things that move and there are things that stay still.
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I'm not sure which is which sometimes.
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It all depends on the way you look at it, right?
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I'm publishing things, they are going out in the world;
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or the world is moving past them, barely noticing;
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or they're in a box I've made and that I set out on my stoop
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but it's clearly <em>my</em> box, and no one else looks inside,
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<em>it's a felony to look inside someone else's box,</em>
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they think to themselves, maybe, walking past,
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<em>like a mailbox</em>.
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<p>
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I want to pick up and move.
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I want to go somewhere and be something more than what I am.
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But the age-old problem:
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you cannot move away from yourself.
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</section>
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