a faint whiff of pink. i'm reading rachel kushner on clarice lispector whose book an apprenticeship or the book of pleasures is in my queue. i may be too tired to zoom but i'm going to in a few minutes nothing's hanging on it i just don't like to talk blank. however often i do. wouldn't it be nice if you could send clouds back and forth with scent and feeling and a little enigmatic dust that can only be conveyed that way? wouldn't you love to travel on one of those puffy clouds. this one wants to kiss those lips.