Gists, smears.

"A nut nut is a person who is nuts about the fun of eating nuts." Epanalepsis. *for grief of grief and love in love* There's a picture in the middle on 9 x 12" raritan heavyweight. One of the first dozen sketchings of a muse. The point is that no one is going in the same direction. *Thank goddess for anomalies* It's done in chalk and the next person who reads it rubs it a bit with their palm. And then the next...and then the next. Then mass appeal, then critical mass, then mass (as in church). Then the picture is just something you swear was once there. Then you're back to being naked for first time pressed against your most endeared lover. What's the residue and is it quantifiable? In the minute details of this picture is an oxymoron like sweet pain, cheerful pessimism, cruel kindness, soft screams. Something to be laid softly like yourself into warm laundry on a bed. But the coup is that its done for you not by you. Free agent. Free agent. Free agent. You're more present than you could have hoped for. Smashingly good, this coup. Frighteningly so, she tells you to own it.