from the airplane it looks like this

Light shines in. This is my aggressive prediction in currency, in game to defy aches and tingles and bad attitudes in general. Rev up the spunk, you know.

The recipe for sparkling checkered finish: dream of shrimp and tie two makeshift buns at the back of the head.

(self-fulfilling prophecies, perhaps, because )

both of these I have done. Last night I dreamed of many many shrimp. Striped pink and white, they were lined up like soldiers, phalanxed both in birds-eye and zoom-in. They were mortared together into countertops and walls. I observed them, I ate them. Two makeshift buns in the shape of shrimp sit parallel at the back of my head.

Thus, the moon becomes sun

and there is peripeteia, mistaken fortune gutted into good: Jack and Jill jab the right eye of each out with a chopstick, and they epiphany that the moon is the sun and vice versa. Or they simply see that silly putty is amorphous and they need only to play with it. Summer kids with active hands, catharsis in mud-puddle banter. No surface is opaque, no chute too narrow for para-cave sight.

Now go here and read this. Yesterday, it--as a friend of mine would say--tripped my trigger. Toss out the pharmaceuticals and in-office counseling; there is a new and more natural therapy within and all around us.