So it's been awhile, yeah? And as much as I hate meta-talk, Parallel Line's own fallow earth has been begging to me recently, and I don't really know how to scratch that itch. So to appease the gaping maw of works yet unwritten, I'm going to whittle down my own block of sepiolite in search of that delicate meerschaum pipe(dream).
I guess consistency is the key to our development, and it's not like there isn't enough substance out there to blog on. It's still drafty in our hundred-year-old house, our family is still thriving, and that goddamn cavity in the upper left part of my mouth keeps getting bigger and more sensitive. Life keeps moving, most days un-blogged. It's what we carry with us and what we wake up to.
It's been colder outside most days, and we haven't been through our downtown procession as much as we'd like. The vagrants are still around, though more bundled, and in slightly fewer numbers. Art remains art.
But that isn't what you came here to read, is it? What did you come here to find? The seed of what you're waiting for is planted in the empty part of my chest just below my heart, where longing lives. I can feel it rising sometimes when I hear beautiful music.
