I know but I don’t have the information I want. I wish I knew more than I read in newspapers and on the web, some portal to the national mood to tap into. Is there some glorious fool out there that really knows it all, some atom-weave savant? All I know is I’m not much good at invisible brushstrokes with the mist coat, the harder I try the worse it looks. I’d like to be better at it. But I’m happy trying to improve. I can go with my allotted shape, this spin of the reincarnation wheel. I’m no billionaire but they’re just trying to get the brushstrokes right too, in their allotted skin, it’s all Kerouac and satori when the chips are down. The universe sends you messages to urge review and re-evaluation, a second of silence that breaks through the blood-beating hum.
