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Today's Stichomancy for Jimi Hendrix

The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Somebody's Little Girl by Martha Young:

The lady looked as if she were going to cry.

But Bessie Bell could see nothing to cry about. The band was still playing ever so gaily, and all the little children looked so beautiful and so happy, all playing and running hither and thither on the sawdust walks, that it was good just to look at them.

But on the instant Bessie Bell remembered how sorrowful it was to cry when you could not understand things, so she quickly reached out her little pink hand and laid it on the lady's hand--just because she knew how sorrowful it felt to feel like crying and not to know.

``You see,'' said Bessie Bell gently, as she softly patted the lady's hand, ``you see, you do look something like a Sister,--but,'' said

The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Louis Lambert by Honore de Balzac:

in the heart of a child? The similarity of our tastes and ideas made us friends and chums; our intimacy was so brotherly that our school- fellows joined our two names; one was never spoken without the other, and to call either they always shouted "Poet-and-Pythagoras!" Some other names had been known coupled in a like manner. Thus for two years I was the school friend of poor Louis Lambert; and during that time my life was so identified with his, that I am enabled now to write his intellectual biography.

It was long before I fully knew the poetry and the wealth of ideas that lay hidden in my companion's heart and brain. It was not till I was thirty years of age, till my experience was matured and condensed,


Louis Lambert
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Thuvia, Maid of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs:

architecture that it rolled to one side, like a huge wheel, into an aperture in the wall.

Even such world-old cities as ancient Aaanthor were as yet undreamed of when the races lived that built such gates as these.

As he stood speculating upon the identity of this forgotten city, a voice spoke to them from above. Both looked up. There, leaning over the edge of the high wall, was a man.

His hair was auburn, his skin fair--fairer even than that of John Carter, the Virginian. His forehead was


Thuvia, Maid of Mars