where am i now? with the bloodcicle stained withal, eh? no, nothing so gory, or shall we say, un propos. but to be sure, there’s been a real dearth of original thinking around these parts of late. hard to take the last gasp lying down (or maybe that’s the only way to take it…)
enter the fist, or some ninja-flavoured monstrosity like that. whirring stars and pointed clown noses. uncertainty, like a cavalcade of munchkins running down the stairs, is just tumbling every which way. who knows where the corascading novitios are headed? damn, it would be nice to be fucking awesome at something or other: basket-weaving, or bookbinding or beekeeping or just any old thing.