Once upon a time, 1935 or thereabouts, Ogden Nash wrote a ditty about Sigmund Freud, thus:
Who’s afreud of the big bad dream?
Things are never what they seem,
Daddy’s derbies, Mama’s thimbles,
Actually are shocking symbols.
Still, I think, a pig’s a pig–
Ah, there, symbol-minded Sig!
I miss Ogden Nash.
Memorializing A Sacred Kerchief.
Rinse hands. Soap up. Make your hands wrestle while singing twenty seconds’ worth of John Prine’s “When I Get To Heaven.” Rinse. Dry hands. Use what you dried your hands with to turn off the water.
Longitude plus latitude minus lassitude equals attitude.
Do we lose consciousness, or gain it?
Friends, I am baffled as to where this installment came from. It does not reflect what is currently going on in my own life at all. No Ping-Pong, no whine, no difficult decision to make.
And while I was drawing it was as if I were being TOLD what to draw. Odd.
It starts with Growing things, Friends.
Other confinements aside, we are all doing a life sentence, with no possibility for parole, between our ears.
This one suffers from policies, which include no looking at photo sources, no do-overs with white-out, and no turning back till finished. They are policies, not commandments, but I try to adhere.
More important than being careful what you wish for is to wish big, and put all your resources at the service of your wish. But being careful is a close second.
One with Clay, Image and Text 