Sittin’ here at work, not much to do. Dukes of Dixieland, StJamesInfirmary live somewhere. Low long last days of the year dribbling out into the past, going up in smoke, smelling sweet and dark. Whoever thinks that the human body and soul do not revolve in yearly cycles is fooling himself.

Without a doubt this has been the longest and strangest year of my life. That old growling bear Logic has been put out of his misery once and for all, and I have gained a certain respect for the kindness of Chance. I have often enough longed for her cruelty but had not looked for any kindness.

I burn joss for myself, for the life to come.