it feels like sun here. snow tomorrow. sun today. a bit of woolen mittens. sun later too. so far, the trash emerged from the undercarriage: one water bottle still lodged within the ice, its snout covered, ctenophoric body undernourished and bleached clear. aside from reading about cool words like amygdala and limbic and leucotomy, I managed to force myself outside tonight (not just outside, which isn't hard, but abroad outside). and so warm neutral, who could resist but resistance itself? later, an old woman with a bag in one hand and a handkerchief rolled up and utilized to pull back her hair, only the kerchief was foreheaded and holding nothing back, and neither was she as she spoke to the bus driver about kittens and "I understand what you're saying, but you're not hearing me..." (I thought about distracting the woman, getting her to sit down and not distract the bus driver, but decided well, the bus driver always gets to decide whether she is able to be distracted or not. maybe I'd be the one disturbing her, if I took the evening entertainment away?). and what does peace mean anyway? plus meeting old friends, calling friends too long not met. discussions of recycling and natural predators and surreptitious midnight blue-bin skulks. feeling sad for everyone reaching to find, sometimes meeting not-enough. then the perfect intersection of bus to bus to walk to train to home. all before the gallery-opening of a good friend, a support truly and one who bends the word 'lovely' into a foray into the botanic desert. recent reading suggests, old news though it may be, that the neurological systems responsible for decision-making overlap with those of emotion. this, you should know, lets us know that rationality is in part based on drama, and drama interrelated with memory. shock, gasps, and I love science that allows me to stand aside from emotion while holding a pair of forceps. this kayak in its bilious wave. also, I've been enjoying those names from the personal ad reps's's that came my way; although I've since stopped replying to all except one (nice name, that one, hmn.. probably won't hear back again). and I've also wondered with incredulous naughty springs and twigs below, why I did that, why I posted something. why prenostalgia, and why walking the long late hours in Logan Square, remembering when I first came to Chicago and felt so incredibly... not at home, not comfortable, not hopeful, not in sync, but... oh, man, but Chicago was/is the city of details. innumerable and disintegrating (de)grated and perfect. I don't think I will ever feel anything other than gratitude towards Chicago, even if I understand why I am outside. walking around, remembering walking around. making it home, remembering making it home. loving strangers, remembering loving strangeness. affection that just might always burst from a hydrocephalic vesicle. a.la. a beautiful eve.