royalty

Happy Queen's Day!

In order to celebrate the birthday of the Dutch queen (actually the Dutch Queen's mother, and even that may be wrong. My recollection fades. Someone was born, at some point in the past, and celebrations are due), I will be selling some of my possessions on a rug in front of my apartment. I expect that no one will have any clue what I am doing, for several reasons. Reason the first, I live in the united states. Reason the second, there is little through traffic. Reason the final, I have few possessions to sell. I can probably spare a pair of socks or two, or an old red shirt I still have despite it being full of holes. I was given a toothbrush at a recent dentist appointment, which I will endeavor to sell also. It is still sanitized, sealed in plastic, for the epidemiologists who may be reading. So, on my rug with shirt, sock, and toothbrush, I will pass the time this afternoon, hawking. Trimming the ascetic fat from years of accumulation. Perhaps I'll even make a sign.

wish me luck,
walter

horrorshow

Meine damen und herren,

Friday evening I had the pleasure of sitting through St. John's Passion. The instruments were made to the specifications of those at the time of the writing, according to the introduction given by the conductor. Then, they began playing, and I started remembering things from pasts that may even have been my own, but you will likely recognize them as not and as inapplicable: 'Oh bliss! Bliss and heaven! Oh, it was gorgeousness and gorgeousity made flesh. It was like a bird of rarest-spun heaven metal or like silvery wine flowing in a spaceship, gravity all nonsense now,' or, really, the suffusive orange glow of a ticking clock, each clicking twitch an incantation of all prior ticks and all ticks to come, worked into the world by gears steadily, inaudibly grinding.


ruht wohl und bringt auch mich zur Ruh,
walter

nutrients

Good day,

In my dreams I am a tree in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. The apocalypse itself was a slow fizzle by human standards, but to my contracted perception of time it was a flash in the otherwise constant gloaming hum of days and nights that bleed together. I lay down new roots in all directions, shearing off those which have consumed what meager nutrients remain in the scorched earth, and shifting my bulk toward untouched pockets. Mindless, I nevertheless have some systemic, ingrained (you'll get it) memories of a time when circumstances were better.

I've also decided to purchase only those things that, when consumed or broken, leave either no waste behind or waste that would be of some potential use to a hardened wanderer stumbling across it in a dump somewhere in the cold, dead future. This leaves me with few options, but I will try to make do for your sake, noble vagrant of the future.

Bon chance,
walter

wild

Hello,

A couple weeks ago, I learned what oats look like when growing in the wild. As a child, I saw them all the time and used them as projectiles because they stick to shirts, blissfully ignorant of their true identity. Now, every day I wake up into a world full of new knowledge, new sources of tiny snacks while I walk to campus, new hopes and possibilities.

cheers,
walter