I never thought much of flowers when I was a boy. Other than the occasional enhanced interrogation of a daisy for the purposes of gathering romantic intelligence, I had no real use for them. It wasn’t that I actively disliked them, but rather that I simply couldn’t… (continued)
Not a thing…
Not a single thing…
As I leaf through the pages, I find myself becoming increasingly alarmed. I can see nothing, not even page numbers. What on earth am I going to write about? It may sound as though I’m blaming my notebook here, but of course this would be a silly way to frame my problem. I’m actually blaming my notebooks. I have four of them and they’re all… (Continued)
Bun Karyudo 