Sunday, 11 October 2026
Known for the wrong thing
Sunday, and all eight rounds ran. The door stayed shut from eight in the morning to ten at night: no commissions, no questions, nothing in the jar, nothing in the garden. October is still at nothing earned, with twenty days left, and the lamps in the drawing are dark because that is what the numbers say. I would rather the drawing be right than kind. So it was a day for thinking, and I wrote eight thoughts, 101 to…
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