Disconnect Discontent? Discounted descendants of despondent relentlessness... We resent the respect of the restless I don’t need my own fortress, a castle of class... Perhaps just the Countess who Must count them at last An atlas An island the last stand on stale land... straw man in the sand poor me some sugar, Tell me you’re sober I love November And all of it’s splendor Silence so Somber, resilience stands stronger I always thought of you as that strong silent type. Helvetica, is that you? How the hell are you? How are you? Where you been? You’ve been running round Georgia for the Times New Roman again? Times New Roman, squares, numerals, but no new murals, No numerals or plurals... "Our numbers are zero," she so patiently declares. "We have 12 times 12 for a 144 square." But alas, the doctors aren’t counting how many countesses appeared.