How do you know your heart is beating?

Symptom: the sound of birds or a recorded double?
Cure: bling; shhhhh; chicago-houston-chicago; return again.

Rabbits, snakes, and tigers

Upon return: your home looks better than you left it; the city has a wide and snowy smile that is familiar for the first time.
Countdown: rest in deadlines, interviews, and very active dreams. Work it out, you are content.

Picture this

Real holiday: one long day at rest, painter.
Holiday: chicago-Colorado Springs-Chicago.
Cure: real holiday.

Quacks

Symptom: fashion wise, your former life held too much inspiration--that often became conversation; Chicago wise, there is fierce winter daring that rivals no other.
Cure: believe signs of fierce and comfort.

For Gomez who is an inspiration and who gave me the original duck.

half but whole

Symptom: o brother where art thou?
Cure: guinness? not sure. Love and admiration. Forget yourself.

P.S. deadline writing for days on end makes for one image per four days. I say, p.s., how do you do? Would you like some pie?

Meta: Evel is dead and the holidays are nigh.

To Evel: you crashed on many a sidewalk. Caio, my child hand.
To circumference: again mountains, again the good acre, for circles.

P.S: Take your meta and your want: go fuck your hard angle flying motorcycle into the flames of many easy gallery text. Heed ye here feller.

Q: when lightning strikes, how many sidewalks...

Symptom: misogyny?
Cure: take a note; turn quietly away.

Stuffing and overflow

Symptom: holiday séances, bad lighting, and email mis-addressed to you.
Cure: steam rooms and the miracle of goggles.

When the simplest things become abstract (l'abstrait, merdum)

Symptom: memory not low, but off the charts. You can't seem to shake what it means to lie in your bed now and gaze out this window instead of that other one.
Cure: continue working and working on the cure which is all in the recollection of that other view. Honor thy neighboring past.

Last night I had a dream about my old cats

Symptom: television has convinced you that there is a real problem.
Cure: the little animals.

There is a grey hole in this blog and I don't know why

Crazy: It's December

Failure: 100 hours working today and you feel you have been flattened at the bottom of a sieve, circa 1950.
Snowing: it is ice.