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I was reading one of the old books minutes ago. I could simply install the whole book but SHE insisted on the extravagant experience of spending time and reading it through, with awareness. SHE said that the old people lived only for 70 or 80 years, yet they spent their short time reading these novels. They are monuments to be appreciated. The more I go on with this book, the more I realize HER point. The novel is called “a tale of two cities” written by someone called Charles Dickens. I wonder now if I could create characters and write stories like that. I wonder also at having last names. We don’t need them here. But they did. We don’t even need “ID numbers” of sorts. Every person here is distinguished. We look different. We are assigned different responsibilities and above all MIND knows all of us. That’s important. 

This book makes me unsafe sometimes, when it gets to brutality and savagery of the old people. It was historical at the end of the old eras, yet still SHE told me those old people did some of these cruel acts in some parts. It’s most unthinkable! Barbaric! I can’t write anymore….my hands are shaking and my heart beat has risen. I should relax…..so….this is “anger”! 

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