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A Thracian Mask (photographed by Erich Lessing from Horizon Magazine Summer 1976)

Our previous post number 501 slipped undercover in 2013, so a bit of reflection I felt was in order, a habit many people reserve for the end of a year, any year for that matter.

Stockpiling our impressions, accomplishments, thoughts, compartmentalizing, regurgitating and finalizing them in a neurological process unbeknownst to most of us, but freely drawn upon at will. Unraveling the spool of time, I wished I knew what the man behind the mask was thinking.

The cracks in the mask must be due to an innate inner time clock in the master hand of father time. There seems to be a bit of sadness in the depth of his eyes I cannot probe, and a gentleness in the lips which do not utter a single sound. Yet he speaks of longing and belonging with a slight tilt of the head fully cognizant of what lies ahead. He has come full circle and yet?

Ancient culture vanished without a distinguishing trace, maybe he was a “bio man” perhaps from a great new race participating in a 140 character space.

A custom of spoken word conversing, going in a rapid technocrat type race. Ergo sum, and therefore, is there nothing new under my sun?

 Catch the conversation before its gone!

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