A parent is a pattern; a child is a sentinel.

Observe the fads; they come in plaids.

Live redundantly; die abundantly.

Love drapes us in ribbons; hate wraps us in stripes.

Patterns are a death march; they drive us to a common grave.

From a distance, life looks like a mosaic; up close, it’s more prosaic.

It’s one thing after another with your father and your mother.

Act, eat, rest, play —  the rhythms of the everyday.

When heart and soul and mind align — sublime.

If your road is blocked by a pattern, run over it with a risk.

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