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Friday 10 June 1994

Yeah. I'm like Brahms. Trying too hard to make the statement I think the world expects.

That's why I run so hard.

And eat so little.

Brahms is such a serious sausage. I put up with him for his shafts of sunshine: mellow, through a forest canopy, glimpses of Bavarian fields.

Soft horns, distant.

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