For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

junior boys and godard

ms peacock. in the library. with a candlestick.

in mourning. tangled up in cotton sheets and fading dreams. and last night's resolve is wavering now. burning away in the sun.

i love getting rid of things, it's intoxicating. last week i gave away almost everything, furniture, shoes and clothing. and now in the rare times i'm home there is space to dance around, and eat chow mein cross-legged on my living room floor, sizing up my books and mentally fitting them into a backpack. today i deleted my inbox and i felt like i could cry with the buoyancy of it. soon i won't even recognize myself.

At night I have growing pains. When I lie down to sleep my feet hang, and I have to bend to miss doorframes, and my car is too small even with the open sunroof, so I mostly walk. And now I'm eye-level with treetops and vaulting buildings with panache. My giantess boots making molehills out of mountains. And my shoulderblades are tingling with what I think may be the beginnings of wings.

Now when I try to smoke a cigarette without the aid of whiskey it tastes like my favorite line from Gaiman's Stardust, all "sawdust and wormwood and rue in your mouth." I always read rue in that line as "akin to Old High German hriuwa (sorrow)" and not the more likely "a European perennial woody herb that has bitter leaves used medicinally." I like my interpretation best.

Guess it's time to lay to rest my Last Vice. Goodbye, old friend.
I won't miss you all that much.