Right now: Dried charcoal seeps into my pores and I think fondly of my days in Vietnam when the facial lady bursted blackheads from my cheeks, placed them on my hand and said with a satisfied grin, "see...dirty."
A space heater hums heat across dried bare feet.
Someone across the street is watching an Olympian figure skating competition.
I'm reading a book called "Conversation Pieces" by Grant K. Kester about socially engaging art practice and getting myself amped up for all sorts of creative shenanigans.
If an elephant were to trample me, I'd be grateful the elephant wasn't a plane crash or a long insufferable illness.
A song "Amelia" by Felina's Arrow loops round and round my cortex
The wishful owner of a a black and white cat - lost sometime in November - is asking no questions.