.

In the name of history are festering islands in the South China Sea, and a rhinoceros on a scroll in Japan. Bold brush strokes of past civilizations flash 140 swords at the speed of light. Gladiators of the Spratley Islands will spill diaspora for a distant hope, terraformed Mars for the children of our insanity, born screaming. If time permits.

Such tenacity, it perhaps hid beneath a shirt cuff. Not handcuffed, lacking cuff links but simply attracted somehow. It could even be the one that fell as Mr. Finch pecked his cookie crumbs, who is no diplomat, that's for sure, but brings along his entourage of fast growing chicks to learn where the seeds are. And I am sure they do not reckon the place of a falling leaf in an earth orbit that may dip, slightly, in the aftermath of thermogeddon's fire and fury.

My fragile guest is lying on the bed stand near a camera that earlier, with morning's southern light, had seen a Smart and Final ad, great art accidentally. And I ask you, very confidentially, ain't she sweet?

And whose rant would you rather have? And which makes more sense?

Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs bite!