Hermits and the Internet

The Hermit The hermit, huddled on the hill, Tries, by exercise of will, To do away with loneliness. Yet he is a hermit still. His aged hands, beridged by time, Are streaked with blood, and dust, and grime. (The cuts are wrapped without success.) All this the fruit of his weary climb. Down there, the…

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A blog about all the arts, including politics
"for 'twere absurd to think that nature in the earth bred gold, perfect in the instant;
there must be remote matter." - Ben Jonson
"I don't know what the question is, but art is the answer." - Guy Conner

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