Here lies Martes Flavigula, eternally beneath the splintered earth.

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Rows of Rhombuses
Sun, 10 Mar, 2024 10.38 UTC

I had another dream concerning Jeníček last night. It was one of the final dreams before rising from the bed and into my daily routine (I laughingly call it a daily routine). Much of the dream has faded, but several scenes remain vivid. We went to a shop, ostensibly in Praha, to buy a window covering for Jeníček’s house. House, I say? He has a house. Well, why not? Why wouldn’t Jeníček have a house? He was rising on a crescendo into the realm of the well-off last time I interacted with him (not counting the bizarre messages from a few months back) and that was 16 years ago, más o menos.

We went into a shop, ostensibly in Praha, to obtain a window covering for Jeníček’s house. We ended up with a type of lattice that folds by pressing on the width-wise sides until the whole is compressed into a narrow, vertical series of bars. Upon unfolding it, rows of rhombuses emerge from between the bars as they move apart. Thus, a lattice. How exactly this could cover a window I distinctly recall wondering within the dream.

The shopkeeper also kept a bakery of sorts in the back. Jeníčěk asked me Are you ready to do Czech, vole?. The shopkeeper looked at me and, in a thick accent, said We share this kind of joke. The pastry in consideration began with the phoneme g or k, but its morphology now escapes me.

Along with martens, goulish goats and the rippling fen -
these writings 1993-2023 by Bob Murry Shelton are licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

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