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Killing time

At the rate we are killing it, we must hate time.

At first blush, though, we don’t kill time all that often. As a rule, we only own up to intentional chronocide when knowingly (and impatiently) waiting for someone or something, say a bus that’s late, or a tardy dinner date — especially when we’re waiting for something or someone that we just can’t wait for to happen, occur, arrive, appear. Not…



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Ulf Wolf

Raised by trolls in northern Sweden, now settled on the California coast a stone’s throw south of the Oregon border. Here I meditate and write.