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Robert Zimmerman: Spreading obvious misinformation since 1935!

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Robert Zimmerman

Age: 22

Gender: Male

Location: Are you a stalker?... Wait.      Don't answer that... I'd rather not      know.

Optimistic Pessimism: The glass is half      full of emptiness.

 � Find out more like the stalker you are.

Also, if you think I'm a stalker my IP is: 24.4.89.206 Figure out if I am on your own.

Writing

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Psycho Babble

Welcome to Not Getting Run Over By A Forklift 101. For our first lesson we'll... ack! No. NO! What a terrible way to start the class!

But aren't solar-powered vampires a bit impractical?

Did you know I have somewhere around one hundred forty entires?

The primary function of the United States Coast Guard (besides protecting the borders and patroling national waters) is to travel back in time and battle pirates!

If wishes were squids, then beggars would write. With the ink, you see. The ink of SO MANY SQUIDS.

"It doesn't get any more serious than a Rhinocerus about to charge your ass."
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For the Ghosts of Our Time
Tuesday. 24.07.07 10:48 am
Now, it seems that we are here,
Just as it seemed in yesteryear.
In the night, it all comes clear.
Misstep, crumple by the mirror.
Our vision fades,
We see not the horrible shades.

We hear voices
And, swallowing hard,
The truth comes, bitter.
We have made their choices.
� Take comfort in the lost,
For we are their makers. �

We have proclaimed,
Without thought or name,
That some should die.
� Never look them in the eye. �
Whispers, you hear...
The cries of those you damned, you fear.

Meet them half way, you say,
Follow them to the grave.
Don't let them stray,
For you, too, will pay.

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and beyond
Sunday. 5.29.11 5:05 pm
palm shading these eyes,
trying to block light
just to lose sight
of all these mistakes and flaws.

sometimes I think, when it�s all done,
how do we know what we�ve become?
these lackluster mirrors,
can�t reflect all we want to see.

a napkin drawing at my feet,
pick it up, gaze, falter, blink.

color you and repaint me
we�ll both change superficially
but our sketches are still the same.
what we feel is our flame.

maybe our mirrors need heart,
feeling, to even start
to refract skin to soul,

reveal who I am to me.

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