"Insert black & white photography, day and night amateur shots of Little Italy and/or the view from the appartment, affix a sometimes-vague sometimes-direct franco/anglo rant sans paragraph and voilà... another husk/essem March entry" | I confess, it has been plutôt redundant here lately and I wouldn't be at all surprised if, at first glance, you would think your rss feeds had erroneously led you back here -- but make no mistake, this second attempt at a series is quite 1. intentional 2. one-dimensional (give or take certain slip ups) 3. an autumn-in-spring diary written in one (gray) palette & last but not least 4. soon to change -- forever. So, allow me to savor it (share it) for a little while (though of course, shown here is really just a tiny fraction of what it really represents... better than nothing). And just like a sign of the times (add the weather in there) with the due date rapidly/slowly coming about (which I swear, still does not feel real), I live in surreal excess with borrowed money/time/emotion and I drink/ignore/create as if I'll never be able/available/allowed to when that day comes. [sign of the times = bullshit, by the way] Flooding from the ceiling above where, you know as well as I do, is no longer occupied... but wouldn't you know it, I was there last night to witness (in advance) our (their) home's eventual faith. What's done is done and though it's hard to admit; it was "done" right. Not a metaphor, just a nod to 101/200: the anchor rose but we're standing still.