the irish tree

No the End isn't Near, its just the Fall and I'm feelin it. Despite all efforts, my latest project has gone up in smoke, literally. I thought if I could get the deaths head to just smolder a little, but it wouldn't stay parallel (took me six tries to spell that right, jesus!) to the Santa sleigh. Then I went outside for a little "encouragement" and came back in to find the whole thing had conflagerated. I'm not even going to try to spell that right. So I got drunk and read the entire New Yorker, even the whats ons which Really Depressed me, (WOT AM I DOING IN THIS PLACE WHY CAN'T I LIVE IN A CITY, WHERE DID I LEAVE MY LIGHTER!) which made me feel comforted, and so now i am like an Irish tree, Pressed by Wind, left to grow, in tiny tiny tiny increments, reaching out, as up as I can.