though you're not. prizes to the one who notices the complete lack of capital letters here, who kindly agreed to exchange their absence from this post for a spin around the magnificent whirlpool we call the flushing toilet. as we converse via the repeating codes who work closely together to facilitate the existence of the internet, the capital letters are probably riding on waves and surfboards thrown together from the unspeakables, and swirling downwards, dressed in their robes and gowns of silky gossamer, with a touch of velvet thrown in here and there for good measure.

i do tend to digress.

but the world needs some weirdos to balance out the acute seriousness. why am i throwing in all the words i find interesting, and sound delightful to the ear who trembles, both with excitement to be the lucky recipient, and also with anxiety that the words might be garbled, and the once in a lifetime opportunity might be gone. 

the whirling skirts dance about the cramped room, picking themselves off the floor, wall, ceiling, continuing to flatten either themselves, their partners, or themselves, all to preserve the long gone tradition of creativity.

outside, the last violet withers.

perfecto.

turd.