In which I try to piece apart my universe, to see how it ticks.
In which I lament my dull response to editing, and wish that I would remember the things I will tell myself in the future.
In which I try to examine what it is I want from my imagination, and the shared illusion with others.
In which I try to dissect my dissection of a recipe to find a recipe for dissecting everything.
In which I explore the difficulty of sharing.