woke up to go see the perseids rain down their fury upon the earth, but got the first few raidrops of a brewing storm, instead. i could claim to have transmuted the stars to tears, but i think you should know better by now, though astra itself is a pale liquid. besides, that was saint lawrence's (st. larry's) trick, not mine. i turn shooting stars into poison & blood, which should come as little surprise. poison, blood, & smiles. the walk up to the park was a taste of morning, & now i'm stranded on this dim band of time before the sunrises, king of a lonely fugitive brooklyn. i'm considering getting my eggs into a basket & seeing what going to the gym is like in the morning, but i don't think that is even possible till a little bit later. going back to bed isn't really on the docket. i am going to look at persuasive games & it is possible something there might catch my attentions. i'm a fickle creature, fey & tricksie so we can't really say. no entymologist or demiurge has pushed a thumbtack through my belly yet!