Perfect Circle.

Yours Truly happily finds herself entrenched in a surprisingly creative, or somewhat (daresaid) inspired moment - post-gig (with sweat drying), in the somewhat silence of the Sanctuary, with one wish that Perfect Circle could stretch into a two-hour tune rather than its just-over-three-minute version to float in the lyrics of this song discovered that one fateful afternoon whilst writing in the meagerly-tatami'd apartment in Itabashi-Ku, Tokyo, when YT played it for hours on a modest tape player while sitting on the tatami and typing some good words.

O, what did those silent neighbors think of the repeats on their sides of the bug-ridden studio walls replete with communal benjo so foul that we oftentimes opted to take nighttime pees in the park just across the walkway rather than use it, wrapped in a nylon winter jacket of a previous tenant, perhaps that verysame tape-leaver. YT does recall how the stench of the benjo would remain in my hair after using it - a cistern, let us not hide behind our Nippon vocab. Our Japanese acquaintances were embarrassed when we told them that we had a place with a benjo, so we stopped saying so. The happiest of discoveries was on a homemade cassette in a left-behind box of tapes of a friend of the tenant, my then-beau. A man whose heart I broke and I am still sorry for that. Not sure if that is sorry, or very sorry. Perhaps it is fleeting-thought sorry.

Then-beaus, beaus, and future beaus is that which springs eternal in thought when it is becoming the fairest of malleable, clime-shifting times of the year. When the Middling City is between gray and green intensities, the air sprung with the scent of warming earth, and moistness in the air from mud, heavy clouds, and emerging.

It is that time to focus on the new work for the next solo marathon, the drawings, and the images that have been sketched and that now need to be made into pixels and so forth.

This show is entitled Lost In It, inspired by Great Lake Swimmers, this time. John has been the inspiration of the last three shows. This is how YT pays deft and silent homage to some of those who engulf.

It was one week ago that YT went to the memorial service for Mary Tomaselli, a pure and dear soul who had an incredible gift of entrepreneurial focus, and one of the most celestial of gifts - hospitality. As expected, Asbury Hall was crowded with those who loved her. I will always be grateful that YT was able to spend amazing time with Mary, and my parents (et al) in Sicily. It was one of those precious moments when in it you realize how precious it is, how the ending is dreaded, how Life is sipped with hunger, with renewed fascination and Joy.

Hopes for more thoughts on fire, crocuses blooming in clumps in the matted grass of last year, more intense moments of face-to-face laughter, of unforgettable touches of fingers, of songs that arrest time, of souls released and floating in that languid whiteness that YT saw that time, more Joy than sorrow, Art that embeds, words that reach into what Love is.

Perfect, Encirclement of Love, Love.