Yesterday afternoon, my mother was playing Eight Miles High by the Byrds on vintage vinyl. Delirious from no-sleep and the folk-psychadelia reverberating through my house, I drifted up to my laptop and found this surreal blog entry addressed to me eight times over.
I thought, if I were on acid, this would all make sense. TAO, you freaked me out, man.
Tom, Shana, Alex, Colin, Luke, Alex, Heather, Sean:
I can't believe Kim made you write notes to me, but thank you. Like little virtual postcards. Now if someone could send along a transcript of the meeting, complete with silences, light falling on the kimono, and any other Zen that transpired...
Kim:
Thank you. I'll be knocking on your door May 22.
So, guys, what now?
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