v u l v a l i c i o u s But what do we do when she refuses to come in? 2002-10-16 // 3:33 p.m. All around me, leaves are committing suicide, jumping from rain soaked trees onto the even wetter ground in fits of lonely desperation. I can almost hear their suicide notes. And the rain is coming down harder now, but I don't mind. It's not pretty, but it's better than it could be. It's cold, but it's not snowing. Fall is waiting in the wings, wondering when she can come in and kick ass. "Is it time yet?" she asks. Come on in, baby, because I think we're ready for you. Colorful cunt, evergreen that turns red orange but never dies: The fall of my dreams, soon to be the fall of my reality. back-forth