20 February 2018 at 11:58 hours Central Standard Time USA.

For Lyn Lopez, My Friend on Google+

Diverted by pacific visions from my sharers, I turn away — if only for a moment — from the travails of the tribe to the beauties of color and form. All the while I struggle to discover a finer voice. I desire to alight — like a swallowtail, a golden bumbler, an old man rigged to a parachute — on a point along the line of infinity, a secure point where perspective is diverted away from condemnation and where I canna fall off the edge into oblivion.

19 February 2018 at 11:11 hours Central Standard Time USA.

I swear I wish we wouldn't fight. Wish we wouldn't slay one another. I sit there on old leather and cry. Cain and Abel be damned! Skewer me for equating the victim with the perpetrator, but we're dealing with elementals here. We're each and all equal actors in the drama, our roles 'n parts assigned by Fate. Or by circumstance. As I told her in the big bed, I don't care anymore. Say what you want, Benny Hinn, but I don't care. I wonder if Circumstance was a god.

18 February 2018 at 22:51 hours Central Standard Time USA.

You can say   what is real   and   what is not real,   but who will believe you? I don't. And you don't. He's making us all go crazy. That's power for you. Love, too. The love of destruction. The love of death. Like the man with the strange moustache. He will destroy us all.

16 February 2018 at 13:19 hours Central Standard Time USA.

Can't recall the details, the how-to-do-it codes. Strugglin' to hold on. The guns are the problem. And the mind. And the culture. All of it.

There's more to meet the eye. Death masks on the wall. It's crooked, too. Not aligned properly. Call me.

17 January 2018 at 14:40 hours Central Standard Time USA.

We surrender.

Actually, that's probably a fib. We can't be sure. We may be retreating instead of surrendering. Time shall tell.

If you'd like to see how it once was, click this sentence.

Hell's Kitchen. Macy's. Bay Ridge Brooklyn.