Good afternoon, this is your headache speaking . . .

There is something percolating in the back of my head. It appears to be drawing about equally from the costumes in Cavalia, the colours of Venetian glass beads and stained glass windows, an insane desire to figure out which stories are linked to which Line, the predictions of meteorite and fulgarite jewelry, and leftover Chinese.

My sanity is suspect when I'm sleep-deprived, can't you tell?



I was going to babble more, about Correo Aereo and King Arthur and possibly the little squeaking noises Tec is making about how much music I've currently got on his hard drive, but I've run out of motivation. Howe'er, ask and ye shall recieve.