Hang it All, Robert Browning
There can be but one sourdough. Inside poetry joke.
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There were two Hopalong Cassidys.
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Talking to the apple trees this morning.
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I have read a good deal “in” the Frankfurt School. I still believe in defending us against storming passions and a terrible fate.
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Great dream last night: tent, forest, island, believed dead “back” from where they’d been. Excellent camp fire.
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I hope in my next dream I can eat a baked apple with Max Horkheimer.
Planet of the Blind 