I miss the days of blogging as a fine art. I mean, when blogging was part of the work I considered important.

Caudal Chords, Axial Cords

I realize that my friend never gets lost, and though I insist that we are heading in the right direction, I inevitably turn out to be wrong. What patience my friend must have, to again and again follow me down the wrong street and not speak a word. And it sucks to know how often I have to rely on my friend’s judgment about directions, urban and intellectual, as I try, each and every day, to make my way, worrying about cul-de-sacs, blind alleys, short piers and lost roads. I'm heading for it.

Hi Blog

Hello.

Tonight is cool, the weather is clear.