it's finished

yesterday was Mardou's birthday, next week is Jache's. my life is lousy with Sagittarians, but this is beside the point.

the point is that i had hours to write at work today, and i have now read the death of the voice. it died with a September whimper in the Blue Ridge Mountains more than two years ago, and i spent years in the hospital before that, alternating euthanasias.

without her i don't know if i would have known where to look,
without him i don't know if i would have said what i saw.

the solstice is ten days away; soon the writing begins.