Semi-Daily Scribbles

My problem? I've got too much vision. It fogs up my View-Master. When the little pictures spin so fast I can't tell where I'm at, or what it is I see, I consult the works of others. Stories that germinate inside someone else's melon provide a useful barometer for my foul weather days. Some rough tumult behind the ribcage. Am I the only one who gets seasick when I stand still? Read up, reach out, listen to what is hard to hear. What highs, what lows, what pressures, what limits, what sort of atmosphere does any human contend with? How did she, they, you find the break in the clouds? Maybe in the pages between front cover and back there's a roadmap to nowhere in particular. I'm told destinations are no great shakes. Journey on.