Long Story; Short Pier.

God, hes left as on aur oun.

Judaican’t.

Lacuna.

Honestly, I didn’t mean to take a couple weeks off.

Busy with one of those seekrit projekts, but also with the finishing touches on no. 12 over yonder: online serialization begins Monday, and I’m still up here knitting the dam’ parachute. (At least this time I’ve left myself plenty of room for the landing.) —Anyway, it turns out I can only procrastinate so many things at one time? Or something.

I do need to get back to certain things hereabouts, though. —Soon? Soon enough.

—Filed 5525 days ago to Indulgences.

  Textile help

Grey Area.

Blob.

Tron.

The Voynich Manuscript.

New York City.

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Chapter Twenty-Nine: “Mass”

Mars, or, Misunderstanding

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