It could be that lacy cotton bras contain the building blocks of the universe, though they do not spring with the ease of beck and conjuring the villagers oft assume I possess. This year has been a wringing--you see, I'm more adept at stomping intellectual grapes harvested from my own vineyards. Four inches from my eyes are the vast tumblers of their cycling. I'm fixing myself like a mixed drink. Perhaps you are correct, that my oneness can only be amplified when paired with a zero.
Ah, fortunate one, I have never read Frankenstein at the source, though I am familiar with a few of its derivative incarnations. The most notable of which were the movie with Robert De Niro and Wil Wheaton in Mr. Stitch. I'll tell you what though, I saw part of a remake made by Lionsgate and you want to stay a million miles away from that one. Random sex, painfully slow pacing, awkward transition from electrical life force to...genetics?
