The first sweet and sour bit of a mandarin orange in December. Tiny sunshines for chilly days.
A warm cup of lavender tea between two frozen palms. This is an instinctive, ceremonial gesture.
Pine needles in my nose. Sap on my knees.
Opening mail from folks I haven't heard from all year. I draft letters back to them taking too-long pauses in the process. I don't have enough paper to collect all of the thoughts. Paper may not even be the solution for these thoughts. There isn't a substitution for breath and eyeball.
Avoiding buying crap for myself or other people. The crap pile is getting out of hand. I can't even find crap in all this crap.
Which brings me to thoughts of simplicity and living more simplistically. I've done it before, five or six times. I've donated books and clothes, and paired down my crap into a few boxes. The first was the time I moved to NYC when I was 18 with just two complete outfits, a trench coat, paint, a blank book, shoes, a pen, three mixed tapes and a walkman.
My art direction contract with a mega corporation ends soon. I've begun to plant some seeds for (f)art projects that have nothing at all to do with making money.
My manchowder is currently assaulting me with loud pickle crunch. Time to strap on the headphones and listen to this: