If only it was as easy as drawing, or rather doodling, taking the point of your pencil out for a pointless drive, letting it loop and mock itself, half building things and then undermining them with a twist about, and sending the sweet wreckage off in another direction. This nose for meanings like a dog's with no consistency but running after every trace in the wind and consulting every tree, silly pooch you've done it again. Try to get your ideas all stacked up, like shirt boxes full of finely scrawled sheets and they topple this way and that in clownish heaps. Is it self-luminous or only the effect of a rickety and daredevil escapement that always circles back to wind itself around another digression. Oh, what happened to seriousness, apparently it was never there, and now it's this rattle-banging on forever.