a different kind of flow

dear sisters

trying to rake through my distorted and scattered brains for some words which will sense you, yet I am not receiving the divine inspiration today. I know I am overdue on the message payments, I shall make up for the backblog, honest I will, i have been really busy and now I have a nasty kind of food poisoning you don't want to hear about, call it a different kind of flow, shall we, a focus point in existence which points out how we are but bowels and things and when they don't work well, well, then it is a miserable thing, so I'd just like to state here that I am so grateful to be in good health, I mean usually, and my heart goes out to those who aren't, cos it's a bummer - forgive the pun - when you don't feel your usual self.

There. Piero Manzoni would never have managed to can his shit if he'd had this. Mind you, Wim Delvoye says that there's probably nothing in those cans anyway. Who shall tell. Did you know that the bowels are supposed to be a reflection of the brains? For the body I mean. I can't remember precisely but it has to do with emotions; I assure you my brain is all over the place but my emotions are quite okay, so it really was a bad piece of fish; anyway, I will let you know if the cleaning out of the lower brains leads to some mental clarity up there. I mean, if the eldest one can show us the lard she is losing, i can talk about this. greetings,
the particularly pale middle one.