Dear Diary, rainy morning, early, dreary.  The light coming through the water’s surface was the loveliest I’ve seen.  I’m exhausted, drained.  Aphrodite took it all out of me, then she took me on a wooden ship and showed me the absurdities of Men.  Now the mermaids are upon me again, but this time my hair has grown white.  I never wanted the mermaids, but do you think my brother cares about anyone but himself?  Even my prayers are swollen.  A flaming heart is like the milk of a flower, and the feathered followers of nine-hundred moons take shelter in the shadow of Fate’s wings, throwing themselves upon their dreams of Achilles, as if the dreams were swords.

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