Is the world caving in over me or am I caving in over the world? Or is that the same thing? San Francisco and I are lovers and her pastels are telling me over and over that the west is the best. What's a man to do?
SF harbors its children so motherly. She'll tow your cars and then charge you $275; no mothers are perfect. No, but it's an enchanted place, really.
Puzzles are what we live by. Labyrinths, perplexing appearances. Beautiful traps.
Yesterday looking through Chinese scrolls it was as if I had painted huge Chinese landscapes.
I don't mean to write so 'artsil(l)y,' it's just 9:17am on a Saturday and that also makes an interesting area code.
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