Of seaweed specimen and postcards collected.

They had collected 121 specimens. An odd number for those with interest in numbers, I expect, but as I am someone not with interest in numbers, I cannot say if this is so. Perhaps it is one of those perfect numbers, perhaps it is a number divisible by prime numbers, really, I would not know, nor do I care to. Perhaps the number is of no import; perhaps it is the amount of specimens found. Specimens of seaweed, that is. Specimens from the Sea of Japan. Collected perhaps by Lauriston B. Hardin, on the Perry Japan Expedition in 1853 to 1855. These specimens are what I have been looking at. Not in person or in printed book in own hands, but on the screen before me this morning. Pale, spidery, and delicate they appear. Rosy, sometimes, too,

Of relation to neither Japan nor morning art of taking one's time, stalling, this is a new zine. As mentioned earlier, it is one of seven. It will be available through our store as soon as the fog of procrastination clears.

{A look at Closing my eyes, it is possible to imagine myself anywhere but where I am. (II)}

Closing my eyes, it is possible to imagine myself anywhere but where I am. (II) is an edition of sixty. All present felt as though something exciting was about to happen; Ready to give help; Have I stood still all this time?; I can almost touch it; and With attention drawn elsewhere are the five postcard collages featured. I hope you like this zine.

(To Lisa who inquired if green was truly my favourite colour, yellow is, on second thought, my favourite colour.)