Two Dreams
A tumble through ants, poison flowers, and the dark stone steps of Budapest. Was it memory, dream, or just Ludwidge’s tea pulling me down into shadows?
It Started in Indio
Day 1 had gone tits up, that's for sure.
On Enrichment
What I’m realizing, as I sit here on the balcony, is that money is little more than a byproduct of my piling up experiences and knowledge and somehow sharing a reflection of them with the world.
Praise Be the Baker
Every morning about now, the smell from one of the two bakeries near my place wafts up on the morning breeze. Just did. Just now. And it reminds me of something, something safe, something joyful...
On Landscape, or The Satire of Ansel Adams
I can't help but think of poor Ansel Adams, the impotence of his work. How can you appreciate the mastery without lamenting the shortcoming of the medium? Maybe that's the point. Maybe he was a satirist, after all.