in_medias_res raze this isn't the book i ordered. i ordered william maxwell's "they came like swallows". i could tell something was wrong when i felt the envelope. it was too long, and what was inside was too thin. i thought maybe they sent me some promotional magazine or something. what they sent me is the ninth book in the asterix comic book series. i've never heard of it before. i can almost imagine the child this must have belonged to before it became a cheap used book that was sent to someone who didn't want it. i can almost see the child looking a little bewildered while their mother reads to them before bed. i can almost see the child getting older and losing interest in fantastic stories about gaulish warriors. i can almost see the mother throwing the book in a box, throwing the box in a closet, and letting the book and the box collect dust for twenty years before telling herself it's time to get rid of all this junk, when the junk once meant everything to her and built her child's imagination from the ground up. but all i see is a book i didn't buy, telling a story i'd have to know the beginning of if i wanted to understand it. 210903 ... unhinged we ended up with something we didn't order in our carryout the other day too. maybe it's neptune making everything all fuzzy including human brains 210903 ... Jus its beautiful and sickening this feeling of what? discovery? in medias res thirty fucking five too late never too late never too late ya its too late oh but it is beautiful just not for me for the next come upins and their up coming ups and downs propped on my shoulders MINE?! just as im uncovering that there is so much life left probably maybe its all uncertain is that all ive learned in this long life whats left isnt promised crumbs or cornucopias for me or for them for us? for the love of God get me some fucking retinol eye cream STAT lather the untucked titties in Lubriderm backstroke in a cask of coconut oil and what will come of the general unwillingness to unlearn past traumas literally nothing good literally just the same song sung over and over and over over over until we all just wilt and forget that we're gay or white or straight or black or happy or exploding in a nuclear home and what of trade wars what are war trades what are they even other than the price of eggs or tomatoes or mushy avocado mashed into gluten free bread all of this just as I'm learning to paint or crochet or uncover a queering or cook all of this as i am in medias res its unfair nay unsanctified that these uncs who've already been where I am right now have the audacity to alter my avatar's general mood and disorder all of this when im too creaky to fight and too covered in coconut oil to stick anything right whats left is a promise of hope i guess its time for bed 250202 what's it to you? who go blather from