golden gingko. he knows how i care for aesthetics but his aesthetic is apple crunch now. i say can we go over here to the golden ginko leaves. ok but hurry he says.

hello to people in other countries. i feel like america's an other country. nevermind america. right. most people who look at this are in other countries than this other country america. does any country besides america invent thanksgiving every year? i still have trouble divorcing thanksgiving and christmas from consumerism and slaughter, i'm sorry. i really am though. i want a holiday from america, american holidays. everything is branded and pre-sold obsolete, everything is eaten up here. i want to coo softly like mourning dove about peace and love, but that seems kind of bogus rhetoric in america while people unnamed and unhomed in other countries are killed in our names as we sleep.
we say happy thanksgiving anyway. our hearts are very full in america these days. full of what? you might ask, in other countries.

so we're going to brother bob's bungalow for thanksgiving, but i will try not to eat any animals. i can do one holiday i think is about it. frankly i've always dreaded them, i think it's a bad hangover from my old man, going there, so fake, so forced those fathered holidays, cracked smiles mountain of presents for what we called the monster child of second marriage, nuther sweater for me, before the next doesn't an old man deserve roamance? hunched flight from the blue stone mansion. see i ramble on holidays, too few dogs, too many memories.