I cannot read as my eyes are bleeding imagery from history and myth. Bifocals now, but no line. Still the imps and Impis, nymphs and legionaries stream as tears, or as I mentioned bleeding, tearing into vision, blooming bloody blossoms of obstruction to all and any efforts at a literature, a literate, a letter, even Tweets and emails is beyond me in these silly, ill-lit, dim-witteries of mine so never mind the mining for a diamond of, a jewel, yes, please one sweet glimmering gem and effervescent, yes, enjoyment of enjoyment of what pleased me once to have again some joie de vivre in them good ol’ les livres, if you please and if you will please pardon it: My French. See, I ain’t got none really. See? Just dim memories of half-attended lessons and a web search spell-check-like or two.