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Today's Stichomancy for Spike Lee

The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Tristram Shandy by Laurence Sterne:

five inches long and a half, like thee--Fate might have done her worst.

Still, brother Toby, there was one cast of the dye left for our child after all--O Tristram! Tristram! Tristram!

We will send for Mr. Yorick, said my uncle Toby.

--You may send for whom you will, replied my father.

Chapter 2.LV.

What a rate have I gone on at, curvetting and striking it away, two up and two down for three volumes (According to the preceding Editions.) together, without looking once behind, or even on one side of me, to see whom I trod upon!--I'll tread upon no one--quoth I to myself when I mounted--I'll take a good rattling gallop; but I'll not hurt the poorest jack-ass upon the

The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from The Odyssey by Homer:

sacrifice to the immortal gods; then he made them a drink-offering, put the cup in the hands of Ulysses, and sat down to his own portion. Mesaulius brought them their bread; the swineherd had brought this man on his own account from among the Taphians during his master's absence, and had paid for him with his own money without saying anything either to his mistress or Laertes. They then laid their hands upon the good things that were before them, and when they had had enough to eat and drink, Mesaulius took away what was left of the bread, and they all went to bed after having made a hearty supper.

Now the night came on stormy and very dark, for there was no


The Odyssey
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Little Rivers by Henry van Dyke:

took the place of chickens. Through this rolling gravelly plain, sparsely wooded and glowing with the tall magenta bloom of the fireweed, we drove toward the mountains, until the road went to seed and we could follow it no longer. Then we took to the water and began to pole our canoes up the River of the Bear. It was a clear, amber-coloured stream, not more than ten or fifteen yards wide, running swift and strong, over beds of sand and rounded pebbles. The canoes went wallowing and plunging up the narrow channel, between thick banks of alders, like clumsy sea-monsters. All the grace with which they move under the strokes of the paddle, in large waters, was gone. They looked uncouth and predatory, like