It is better to have a permanent income than to be fascinating.

Alas, I have neither.

But I do have at least one reader. And there's nothing like the appearance of an audience to make the stage's call so appealing.


Twice spurned, my lover waits eagerly for the drivel I pour into her, displaying these words unabashedly. She judges not, for she is merely an extension of my ego.


And I missed her so. So here I am again, setting fingers to keys, weaving wisps of thoughts into a tapestry obfuscated by language too flowery for lucidity.


(You may wonder why one would choose such a use for language. Truth be told, ice is denser than these words.)


And if your thoughts have no substance, make them beautiful.