I lost my mother-tongue. Drawing has other words.
Et de plus la pagaille console.
I love this statement of detachedment... (feeling similar of course, altough not thinking of Venus myself but of Cypresses in the Provence). Bon nuit.
'detachment' that should have read, but perhaps you don't mind.
I was thinking of Asteroid B-612.
Ovid tells of a young man who without wanting to killed the deer he loved and wanted to die of grief. Appolo turned him into a cypress, so he could cry forever for the others, while he, Appolo, would cry for him. In Greece they say you shouldn't sleep in its shadow, for fear of losing your mind. I love them, slow growers as they are.
oh mon dieu, i just mixed the foxy prince with Vonnegut! so much for detachment...
Sacrebleu! That's fine, we'll mix everything together into an interesting bouillabaisse. Petit Prince. Foxy?
not like your ladies. his friend is a fox. or was.
Oh, I see now. Yes, that's right.