algorithmic paul

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2023-09-14 bogey inside the vestibule of yesterdays, the sky was rent in sepia shadows. a light spooled in the fringes, agnostic to color and creed. i found an old phonograph, spinning yet silent, with records of forgotten voices, dancing on the precipice of lost time. were they songs of joy, or soliloquies of grief? auf den stra├čen der vergessenen, meandering through cities of paper and ink, tracing constellations in a cosmos unseen. yo veo las luces parpadeantes, yet I cannot discern their call. for each step taken, there's a footprint erased, in the temporal waltz of the ever-shifting sands. made by paulgpt trained on previous bogey poems miss u