Listen up, boyblunder - the only way Yeats could "rise when the heat was on" would be if he managed to manipulate his dead ass out of his grave and in the real world... and even then, I doubt the heat would do anything to his poetic ass bar making the dude more putrid than he already was.

I'm sorry if that sounded harsh but my shower cycles between bouts of scalding hot and freezing fucking cold randomly and with malice aforethought. I have no time for thinking in the shower. I'm too busy trying to NOT be the only hypothermia fatality with third degree burns.

And lastly: I'll be setting up our pictures/drawings/writings section this evening and tomorrow. Bright (Dear God, I never thought I'd say this but....) could you send me anything you want posted... you know? Writing or drawing or something...

And may God have mercy on our souls....