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she might have been a stratospheric artist, a bandmember of a once-known music phenomenon, a buster, a keeper, a wonderlust, an incredible singer, a babe from a magazine, the author of a novel published in hardcover. apparently, after a while, this doesn’t seem to matter any longer. all that matters is right here, on this river, watching plants grow, and the wind blows and i feel my stomach. not hunger, no, but high ideals converted in stomach feelings, moving and moving. there’s no stand still. there is nothing that stops growing, even if we might feel like.