Nothing like a few grand Middling City gigs, late-night conversation with Academie Guru, a select PJHarvey song and a little class skipping to raise one's spirits and reinvigorate the head. Told JR it's been weeks, three, to be exact, since I fondled the digvid camera. And here I hear the voice of Kennedy, half-growling/half-groaning And this is art school. Yes, where is the art. So a break to find art, again.
Reading a book about experiencing art and just garbage picked a passage about John Cage and Robert Rauschengerg, specifically RR's White Canvases. Cage wrote that these paintings were Airports for particles of dust and shadows that are in the environment.
Your assignment: read that over, twice. Then have coffee. Or Oban.
Ron of KY wrote of trying to wrangle some Oban out of a KY situation and though I was lost in the nuances of it I admired his wherewithall to at least try some quality booze acquisition in that bourbon-soaked region of those collectively known to Yours Truly as Team B.
As the plume poppies continue to make a pergola without my assistance, and the bee balm lists after bee visits, and the moon flowers push up the brick house, I do my own thing.

Love Thing.