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	<title>frankcaron.com &#124; Frank Caron&#039;s hompage</title>
	<link>http://frankcaron.com/Flogger</link>
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		<title>Ellipses</title>
		<description><![CDATA[I guess me dusting off this blog is becoming something of an ironic routine. What&#8217;s been going on, you ask? I&#8217;ve signed on for a new job here, and I&#8217;m moving to a new apartment here. More to come.
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		<link>http://frankcaron.com/Flogger/?p=1069</link>
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		<title>A Road Mistravelled</title>
		<description><![CDATA[He sat, defeated, against his now-defunct car. The sun reflected off the hot tarmac as though it were a mirror, blinding him as he grimaced. With face contorted in a futile attempt to beat the sun, he looked first west and then east. The vacancy of the horizon suggested the advent of unwilling solitude on [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://frankcaron.com/Flogger/?p=904</link>
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		<title>Ikea</title>
		<description><![CDATA[Furious, she ripped herself away from my embrace. &#8220;Don&#8217;t fucking touch me,&#8221; she screamed with a venom that could have bored holes in the dust-covered kitchen tile beneath her would it have fallen from her mouth rather than been spit into my face with inhuman force. She stepped away hastily, nearly tripping herself on the [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://frankcaron.com/Flogger/?p=901</link>
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		<title>Here you go, Hollywood</title>
		<description><![CDATA[Oftentimes, dinner conversations with people in the city end up going down Tangent Road with the fervor of a New York City Taxi Cab driver shooting for a big tip. Last night, I happened to head out for dinner with some people from work, and we got onto the topic of copyright protection and piracy. [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://frankcaron.com/Flogger/?p=884</link>
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		<title>I&#8217;m The Sheep That Got Lost, Madre</title>
		<description><![CDATA[Oh yea, I have a blog. I almost forgot. It seems like it&#8217;s been ages since I&#8217;ve written anything for myself, and yet, I find myself hesitate to dig into it now. If I&#8217;ve been quiet recently—minus one particularly-necessary interjection during a recent vacation—it&#8217;s only because life has been insanely busy as of late. 
Between [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://frankcaron.com/Flogger/?p=769</link>
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		<title>On Corporate Blogging, PR, and The Slow Demise Of Passion</title>
		<description><![CDATA[What seems like a lifetime ago, I was a game journalist. I was one of the few who enjoyed the luxury of zooming around the globe to play the latest games, chatting casually over drinks with the industry&#8217;s key players, and getting a chance to make an impact on the way that the gaming industry [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://frankcaron.com/Flogger/?p=806</link>
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		<title>My New Gig, or Why I&#8217;ll Rarely Post Here For A While</title>
		<description><![CDATA[Allow me to apologize: I&#8217;ve been M.I.A. for quite a while on this here blog. The combination of holiday games, the girl who is effectively my faux wife now, and my new job are depriving me of time to wax poetic. After about 10 months of working as a Creative Writer for Ganz, writing up [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://frankcaron.com/Flogger/?p=795</link>
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		<title>Aural: An Anagram and a Narrative Experiment</title>
		<description><![CDATA[Music has an incredible power. This is common knowledge. Music can instill emotion just as easily as it can trigger floods of forgotten memories. And like everyone else, I too am deeply affected by music. But my love for music is strange in that I happen to feel obscenely strong emotions from music that very [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://frankcaron.com/Flogger/?p=785</link>
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		<title>The Story That Made Her Love Me</title>
		<description><![CDATA[
There once was a girl who had an apple tree. Every day, she would visit the tree. She&#8217;d climb his limbs, swing from his arms, and nestle in his trunk to sleep in the sun. 
For 10 summers, she continued the ritual. She&#8217;d return every summer to see him—her tree. Until one year&#8230;
That summer, she [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://frankcaron.com/Flogger/?p=770</link>
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		<title>1986</title>
		<description><![CDATA[
The Spring of &#8216;86
Waves crashed on the coast&#8217;s dark banks. &#8220;White sand is overrated,&#8221; I&#8217;d heard more than a few times already in my days. Ultimately, there were more wrongs than rights—on the trip, and in life.
The wind playfully carassed my burnt face as I lay peacefully on the beach one day, her fingers draping [...]]]></description>
		<link>http://frankcaron.com/Flogger/?p=580</link>
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