Children picking up our bones
Will never know that these were once
As quick as foxes on the hill;
And that in autumn, when the grapes
Made sharp air sharper by their smell
These had a being, breathing frost;
And least will guess that with our bones
We left much more, left what still is
The look of things, left what we felt
At what we saw. The spring clouds blow
Above the shuttered mansion-house,
Beyond our gate and the windy sky
Cries out a literate despair.
We knew for long the mansion's look
And what we said of it became
A part of what it is ... Children,
Still weaving budded aureoles,
Will speak our speech and never know,
i'm actually insanely sensitive rn and i don't know what to do with myself. usually when i get like this the night ends with my leg cut open so stay tuned
if i ever stop depression posting on main you have permission to torture me, but not in a way that depressed me would like. make me read rawls or smthn
also i landed a hint to why my startup boot is so slow - for some reason, after the power button is pressed my mobo has the red CPU error light on but if i just wait it out it goes away... i should probably look into that more
it's actually so funny, the getAuthorFeed requests actually work and return proper results, but it's specifically the check for the user creation date afterward that's hard-coded for plc