It’s the first weekday after the Daylight Saving shift.  I may be a little less awake than usual.

[I would search for] smaller and smaller guitars, until they were too small to play with human hands, and must be played by robots, spirits, traveling pixies, nanobots, and/or the wind.  These guitars will be know as guiltilettes.  And they will only play subliminally in minor keys, inspiring regret, especially regret for kind or loving words left unsaid.  Dogs can hear the playing, but because they have no regrets of that manner, they do not howl:  when a dog howls at a dog whistle, it is because they seem to hear prey.  “Are you getting that or am I?” they ask, as if a phone were ringing.  “Somebody get that.”  Dogs are domesticated gods.  When we are good to them, they fawn on us.  This is secretly what we wish all gods would do.

If you liked this morning’s blog, check out The Clockwork Alice.  It’s a) my newest release, and b) pleasantly weird.