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#354 :: Carnation

February 3, 2005

FRIENDS:

HLO will be down for the next day or so as I switch servers. If I were an expert DBA, dosage I’d have it done in 60 minutes, but the fact is I’m just this guy who knows a little HTML, so I’m slogging through all the command-line jungles without much of a machete.

The site will likely DISAPPEAR COMPLETELY for a wee bit. Have faith. I’ll be back as soon as I can. And thanks for watching.

mack

information pills ‘popup’,’width=500,height=500,scrollbars=no,resizable=no,toolbar=no,directories=no,location=no,menubar=no,status=no,left=0,top=0′); return false”>A sweet, dimheaded, new smell in my 16th year, the smell of the white carnation my mom pinned to the lapel of my prom jacket. Something suffused with promise and age, almost as if a mantle were bestowed upon me, a threshold placed before me and a sword and shield thrust into my hands. “You look great,” she said. Everyone else had rented colored tuxes – peach, amber, cream, even some pastel green ones, but my folks had insisted I’d look best in my father’s straight black tux, and I’d dutifully thrown it on, cranking my pre-party psych music on the little stereo in my room while I did. (“Funeral for a Friend/Love Lies Bleeding”) I looked in the mirror. Not bad. Not too bad. And I stepped into the night.

I go back there, every single time I see one of these. Every. Single. Time.

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