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            <title>Paper Tiger &#8212; desiquintans.com</title>
            <description>If Desi bumps into anything while holding a pen, blocks of super-literate grafitti come gushing out of his hands, man.</description>
            <link>http://www.desiquintans.com/</link>
            <copyright>Copyright Desi Quintans, 2008</copyright>
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                    <item>
                    <title>Ash</title>
                    <pubDate>Fri, 5 Jun 2008 18:58:00+1100</pubDate>
                    <author>Desi Quintans</author>
                    <category domain="http://www.desiquintans.com/archive.php?cat=blogstuff">
                                Normal Blog Stuff</category>
                    <description>Maybe it&#8217;s just me, but it seems like food in general has markedly declined in quality and flavour since, I don&#8217;t know, four years ago. Maybe the &#8212; not just the pollution, but the hardship of modern farming life given worldwide urbanisation &#8212; maybe pollution and the time importing takes and maybe the hopelessness and surely the microwaving have zapped the flavour out of it, like a quiet word in a thunderstorm.

I&#8217;ve got some KFC in front of me and, man, this stuff&#8230;</description>
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                    <title>Lessons learned</title>
                    <pubDate>Mon, 1 Jun 2008 16:12:00+1100</pubDate>
                    <author>Desi Quintans</author>
                    <category domain="http://www.desiquintans.com/archive.php?cat=blogstuff">
                                Normal Blog Stuff</category>
                    <description>So I don&#8217;t have any new pictures of the blacksmithing. There&#8217;s a reason for that.

And the reason is that I&#8217;ve tried to make tongs twice this week, and twice I&#8217;ve failed. The first time I had left the steel in the fire too long, and when I came back it was sparking everywhere and the front part of the tongs had melted off, leaving me with the rein in my hand and a knowing look on my face.

The second failure, this afternoon, I tried to adjust a tong half while it was &#8230;</description>
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                    <title>Soul Age</title>
                    <pubDate>Thu, 4 Jun 2008 21:36:00+1100</pubDate>
                    <author>Desi Quintans</author>
                    <category domain="http://www.desiquintans.com/archive.php?cat=blogstuff">
                                Normal Blog Stuff</category>
                    <description>So maybe I am a crank and a killjoy and any number of things, but more than any of those, I feel old. More and more I subscribe to the idea of a soul age; that, man, we float around forever and might settle into a body for a few years or so, and then get moving again.

It makes sense that I would be literally old when you consider the fact that I am not surprised by anything, that eating is a chore and food is ash in my mouth, that I find it hard to connect with other young people and understa&#8230;</description>
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                    <title>First Forging</title>
                    <pubDate>Sat, 6 May 2008 22:11:00+1100</pubDate>
                    <author>Desi Quintans</author>
                    <category domain="http://www.desiquintans.com/archive.php?cat=blogstuff">
                                Normal Blog Stuff</category>
                    <description>I recently took up blacksmithing as a hobby. Being into typewriters and fountain pens and The Good Old Days, such a classic and dying craft was only natural progression.

I spent about three weekends puttering about trying to get everything hunky dory. I made a makeshift anvil by bolting steel angle to a sawhorse. I made a forge out of a shallow wok, with plumbing pipes leading to an 18v hairdryer fan.

But as I tried to forge things, I noticed great deficiencies. The &#8216;anvil&#8217; was&#8230;</description>
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                    <title>SMS Haiku</title>
                    <pubDate>Tue, 2 May 2008 21:50:00+1100</pubDate>
                    <author>Desi Quintans</author>
                    <category domain="http://www.desiquintans.com/archive.php?cat=written">
                                The Written Word</category>
                    <description>With select people I am going to begin communicating by SMS solely in Haiku.

I think that the pace of life and the crushing tragedy of work and study and The Real World have removed people from the beauty of words. I have certainly been removed from it, and for much too long. So let&#8217;s start something now.

Waiting for the bus
Lovely girl drives past me, and
The wheels keep turning.
</description>
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                    <title>Early</title>
                    <pubDate>Tue, 2 May 2008 22:14:00+1100</pubDate>
                    <author>Desi Quintans</author>
                    <category domain="http://www.desiquintans.com/archive.php?cat=blogstuff">
                                Normal Blog Stuff</category>
                    <description>From a year of waking up at three in the morning every weekday to go bake cakes for strangers, I still wake in the early hours even though I do a normal shift now.

I generally fill this time with computer games, or reading nodes on <a href="http://www.everything2.net/e2node/The%2520mass%2520of%2520men%2520lead%2520lives%2520of%2520quiet%2520desperation">Everything2</a>. But really what I&#8217;d like to do is pick up my friend from her house, knowing that she&#8217;s probably awake at that ti&#8230;</description>
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                    <title>So maybe it was a bad idea</title>
                    <pubDate>Wed, 3 Apr 2008 20:20:00+1100</pubDate>
                    <author>Desi Quintans</author>
                    <category domain="http://www.desiquintans.com/archive.php?cat=written">
                                The Written Word</category>
                    <description>So maybe it was a bad idea to burn all the two-by-fours from the garage, who really knows. But there, it's done, and now there&#8217;s a &#8212; not to say bonfire, because maybe a bonfire would be more organised &#8212; conflagration, about the size of a kitchen, raging on the grass in the backyard.

People say that looking into a campfire makes you think clearly on who you are. If only someone had told you that making the fire bigger will not make you feel anything more. And what&#8217;s wor&#8230;</description>
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