flea

It is a somber, grey new year's morning.

I learned that Gus has died. He was tall, and beautiful, and wicked smart. That fucking monkey.

Friends have grief; it is so sad that the universe does not allocate love neatly.

mr. flea and I are beginning to struggle forward to get him finished. It is hard work, and is going to be harder.

It is hard to feel joyful about the year to come on such a morning.