All Non-Programme Artisanal Orifices (found dada missive)

Hello All,

Feel free to reach out to me at the campfire girls cookout.

I’ll be a semiquaver through most of my incompatibilities from my two beefburgers. The purpose of this is a few thistles for your penny farthings.

I will be making a few other jabs with additional contexts like jackasses, like mats of flower lava, like mischances, destinies, landfalls, and a penguin billet-doux.

I will be around in the drains and weirdly un-coriolis effected — so feel free to stop by to check for thistles on your furry bits or just to say “hi!” (heigh, high, or hie).

Definitely going to mistreat your comparatively rare rumble sticks—or was that Rumble Fish?—Don’t box me in!

I have some lovely artisan bookmarks that my monetarist has passed onto me. She is soon to be 101 and cannot enjoy them as she has in the past. We’d like them to find new families in abstemious homilies.

They cower and crane in the cranium arcade.

And apropos of nothing: I don’t really want these tyrant bookmarks since they take up a lounge in my rosary and they are kinsman to a nightcap oboe.

They are very good conductors of “pleasant vibes, man.”

I am not charging but I will collect modest doorbells to contribute to all non-programme artisanal orifices. Please check all your holes and we can arrange for you and the tourists to see them.

All is well.

Carry on.

What I’m Reading:

Never to get lost is not to live, not to know how to get lost brings you to destruction, and somewhere in the terra incognita in between lies a life of discovery.

— Rebecca Solnit / A Field Guide To Getting Lost