when i bring home tulips for the third night in a row jenny laughs at me & says i am enjoying her being mad at me too much. "o sublime torture" or something like that, i suppose. it probably translates well into french. while, see, "my stomach has sharp incisors" or "my heart wields a cruel knife" translate a little better into one of the more dancing tongues, a dialect fey & dark. grimly amused at my own predicament perhaps yes, but this is fuck-all awful. on top of that, plan "mister gentleman" involves partly my not thrusting my exsistance on her, which means i'm left allowing her to ignore me. for a creature with the attention demands of yours truely, a mammoth undertaking. yet here i am! i'll build this tower up to heaven, sure. i'll be the black angel adorned with regret for as long as it takes.