This is going to be the first pujo away from home in very many years. And then the growing up embarrassingly late (not that, not that). And the cat, it is out of the bag, and it has left its paws behind. Or its wits. Who knows? I have a list in my head of things i want to paint. Except that they aren't things, exactly. Also embarrassing: yes, there is a playlist for the journey. Music made with instruments i can only identify half the time, if at all, so that i won't follow the words. (A perfectly serene double meaning emerged. Good?)

Things i am (probably) going to read: a biography of Charlie Chaplin, a book on travel in the ancient world, Shakespeare textual scholarship (a guy forges a bunch of plays, letters, etc. claiming them to be by Shakespeare; another guy lays the smackdown on this shameless villainy; the manuscript for the second edition for the second guy's book is owned for a time by a third guy who, you guessed it, is notorious for Shakespeare forgery. Is this not a thing of beauty?), the first twenty-six issues of the lovesome Blue Beetle III (one more time).

But not when i am away. When i am away... Painting, yes. Sleeping sound and early. Self-possession? Yes. Something still, something distilled.