(no subject)

Well, it's not enough to get me above the utter shits which this week... _MONTH_ has been, but The Sinfest Book's Out! Whee!

*Looks wearily delighted*

The high point of this month was my visit with my love, a wonderful day, but that's ONE DAY out of yes, count them, 13. And if tomorrow's the thirteenth day of the month, we know it's just going to be every joy in the book. Hey, josh? Not a shirt you could sell (copyright infringement and all), but:

pity this busy monster, manunkind, not. Progress is a comfortable disease: your victim(death and life safely beyond) plays with the bigness of his littleness --electrons deify one razorblade into a mountainrange;lenses extend unwish through curving wherewhen till unwish returns on its unself.                               A world of made is not a world of born -- pity poor flesh and trees, poor stars and stones,but never this fine specimen of hypermagical ultraomnipotence.  We doctors know a hopeless case if--listen:there's a hell of a good universe next door;let's go --e.e. cummings