Other than the fact that...

whenever I hear someone lead with that caveat, I brace myself for something I wish I didn't have to hear. Usually.
That was not the case this time.

My final vice, you never asked

There tends to be this tendency of late to fall towards sadness, the end is the beginning, there is constantly a middle that fits only one not both -- so you are always either back tracking for the beginnings you never had with how many you might have loved well and then to watch all that carnage and realize it's really how it is, the mexican mafia stabbing you kidney wound in the desert for a suit, for pride. Gunned down by the most vile of the vile, corrupt cops, decorated for killing the one who was actually not crooked. Sounds like a company town to me. Where your instagram and words with friends will get you out of a few paper jams and sticky wickets. All the more reason my favorite bad guy gangster scene of all time is the original Korean film Old Boy. Knives in the back. Check it out. It's phenomenally specific to the power of cinema, and as such, belongs in my alien time capsule collection (for another day, chilluns).

In other words, the moral of the very depressing HBO series which I actually watched on my iPad which is quite different than the years I keep reading about in these papers coming out of the storage that had to suddenly stow the papers after a flood. The Rosslyn years. The best window A/C we ever had. This garage is stupendously blisteringly hot. There is a small triangulated area where the cool air flows. To my right, the rage of menopausal temperature swings (I've never had a problem with that always been fine until last November then hot flashes and the latest morning sickness nausea almost every day on the eve of my 50th birthday, and I won't go quietly, despite repeated reports of my inevitable demise.

If you are covered by someone from on high, almighty, the anointed, the arrived.

I miss you already although we've never met.

these are the things I'll never get
to know this colors everything wet
faded, drained down streams 
tears are hollow
compared to faded watercolors

Hiding out on the fringes