Nicholas has stopped by and shared with me some Russian proverbs – and I will quote one here for the first time of probably many – “Without the flour, there can be no science.” Brief conversation ensued.
Nicholas is wearing his stomach like a skirt these days; it hangs down around his knees (and gently ripples in the wind). I can’t help but wonder when it was that he last saw his penis. And I can’t help but think that the lack of light and air can’t be doing it any good. And I wonder if one day it might shrivel up and drop off, like – I’m going to say it – like, autumn leaves.
(And now I’m wondering if I’ve ever in fact seen a movie, or read a book, or dreamt about dying penises shrivelling up and dropping off, and also turning black like ink, and rotting. Because I’m pretty sure I have, and if anyone else is experiencing déjà vu at this point, let me know.)