if you were here right now I'd be reading Werther to you, suffocating in turns from this light that emanates, and then, and then, that cocktail of immediacy. something like alchemy of sentences veered away from the halfness of things. whyever would you want the halfness of things. the wine is on. the poet waits... but for who, or for what. Ah, the press of vagary/ies. I must pull a book...