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8:50 p.m. - 2001-05-08 Now that the sarcasm's out of the way, I need somebody who went to the original Woodstock. Did anybody go to the original Woodstock? Yeah, I know, we're all too damn young! I'm not being too picturesque, or even trying, but save it. Immaturity's cool every once in awhile. However, I'm now going to contradict myself and put in a poem, for the simple reason that I can't stand how mindless this entry would be without it. Why am I still talking? fantasy fantasy claims me as its own, the line between us blurs i can't remember who or when or where or how this came to be i could be awake in a dream or asleep in reality something happened to me somewhere that blurred the line ideas to make me better stories to make me live i didn't do it on purpose, i didn't kill the truth i didn't make you believe something i didn't believe myself i thought that it was going on as i spoke to you woke up in the mirror on the floor realizing there was no dream, not anymore
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