Big Summer
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Read between June 23 - June 23, 2022
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Nobody heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning: I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning. Poor chap, he always loved larking And now he’s dead It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way, They said. Oh, no no no, it was too cold always (Still the dead one lay moaning) I was much too far out all my life And not waving but drowning.
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The trick of the Internet, I had learned, was not being unapologetically yourself or completely unfiltered; it was mastering the trick of appearing that way. It was spiking your posts with just the right amount of real… which meant, of course, that you were never being real at all. The more followers I got, the more I thought about that contradiction; the more my followers praised me for being fearless and authentic, the less fearless and authentic I believed myself to be in real life.
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Still are there wonders of the dark and day: The muted shrilling of shy things at night, So small beneath the stars and moon; The peace, dream-frail, but perfect while the light Lies softly on the leaves at noon. These are, and these will be Until eternity; But she who loved them well has gone away. Each dawn, while yet the east is veiléd grey, The birds about her window wake and sing; And far away, each day, some lark I know is singing where the grasses swing; Some robin calls and calls at dark. These are, and these will be Until eternity; But she who loved them well has gone away. The wild ...more