Disorderly and dangerous, that is what I've been all March, rambling with a silver fox ("mental, but looooovely") here and there, in heathery fields, empty city streets, and dark, history-pierced nooks. I let my research progress along a shambolic route where the trees have crazy limbs with boars' hearts stuck on their bloody tips. Be brave, dude. Don't let your feet wear out. I am hungry, always hungry, but deliriously happy. Happiness-despite-hunger is no substitute, though, for creativity. It's too bad that the starving artist-in-the-garret is a myth pushed on us to justify budget cuts and the ascendancy of science and reason over poetry and other types of conscious dreaming. The primacy of the world-apparent over the world-in-waiting. Another thought, or a fragment picked out from the ocean of information and images that is the Internet: The god of the gaps. I like the idea of that, and I want to know more.

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