This is a painting for the cover of a forthcoming poetry book by Barbara Mor. I’m not sure what other commentary to add other than it was created of my impressions of the stream of conscious work.

It’s late. I’m only beginning to slow down. I feel like I made up for days of inertia and despair today, working on comics, paintings, music, even getting in a workout. If only I could feel this focussed and energetic all the time. If only I could invent a day with more than 24 hours in it. I know I’m always saying that. Last night I was plagued by dreams of Freemasons, subways, and fair-weather friends past suddenly glomming on to me now that my weather has been looking a lot more fair, circumstantially.

“Can you at least stop acting so stupid? You’re embarrassing us both in front of the dream-Masons!”

In the end a dream-Mason taps me on the shoulder and discreetly and drops several small books into my backpack, to peruse in a more private setting.


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