Here are my thousand dissertations. Itty bitty spots of wisdom I have cooked up in a vat just for you, for the universe.

On poetry, on customers, on helplessness, on the true nature of the depressant inherent in alchohol, on a mess of inconsequential things. On necklin rods and anti-grav and uterine replicators for all I care. On the loss of the age-old tradition of sealing a letter with blood instead of wax. On the futility of competition and the wind-piss that are LJ rating communities. On you and me, or, because I wouldn't want to offend, me.

Here it is, my pretty, my perfect. Here I am, for you.

<<agé chose>>

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