would have probably lost my shit tonight if jenny hadn't been firm on me keeping to my plan of going to the gym. i mean, the cranky heat of the office, coupled with the endless piles of work that have only just begun? didn't help the mood, but really i'd been steeping in my own neurotoxins all day. i've been all lal, mem, jin like a knife in a white chapel hooker, all morning. a fit, gold from straw, pistons in chambers, but stamped feet & well, you know that the sickly sweet rot of names gets into everything. that rainbow shine of spilt oil, those sleek black otters. well everything worked out fine in the end, if by fine you mean that the boot black grew up to be a blackguard. which isn't fine, but it is like a promise ring. a heron, with monkey's paws. squiggles in a circle, & a name written in it by solomon. the black rod trumped; alastor ascendant. the game inside of my skull is played by only the same hands, velvet & iron, & only to stalemate. but not forever. look out for it; i've got this gangster's moll on my side, & she's all stilettos & hold-outs.