February 26, 2014

The year of the horse is galloping and all that I do to help the forward motion makes us careen faster. Events are the hooves and lives are the trampled mud and dust of this centaur of century 21 who survives by wit and the mercy of moonlit liberal San Francisco. The blue moon is crescent and Dover fog hangs gray luminescent in the rainy street lights shop lights and headlights.   Horse hurls on into the next moment of the last moment without pausing to consider infinite motion or probability theory.