I keep finding absolutely everything too much of a bore to write it down.
I mean, there was a flying sausage terrorizing us, which later turned out to be a chipmunk; there was the fascinating series of romanced lucid dreams that visited me during the past weeks; there was the wet peregrination in the rain that we had to do, from store to store, yesterday, because the rain was not stopping us from eating and shopping and we seem to be foreign to umbrellas—and I wanted to test the resistance of my shoes, or is it the résistance?—oh, and it feels like it is the season… but other than that…
I am thinking of including the good stuff that I only reserve for my personal archives here. Maybe see if someone likes it, I dunno. I am planning to include thegingerbreadempire.com in a presentation card, so I have to stuff well this site with good, handsome pieces rather, and maybe garnish it. I feel as if I have left this place like an empty room with some stale cotton candy on the table, instead of anything more wholesome. But then I love excuses, and also, I don’t have any time. Ha, see, I don’t even edit all this shite.
It has come to my last empty promise. I may actually mobilize, spring into action, yet, I write this right before bedtime. Ha, oh, no, this is my favorite season.