i thought it was the obamachron but it's thunder now. despite my hesitation we entered the secret garden. the ivy has sewn up the entrance so we have to squeeze through. before entering i was thinking about my drunken years, and then, the first step in lulu finds a human shit. there is no moral to this story, yet there is a story, because we are natural storytellers. there's an arc to the story, but it may or may not bend toward justice. the second i wrote that a massive lightning cracked the sky.