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My words are like half-baked bread, hot and tasty but not done, needing additional curating but I am in too big a hurry to wait. The time has come, William Tell, to shoot the apple off the head. Like Lennon's fool on the hill, day after day, I see the world turning round. The whiteness of the whale is in view. I need lunch with Hemingway on the Left Bank in Paris. Maybe he could teach me how to write a declarative sentence. In the meantime I will make do with my half-baked bread.