Inserting the pleasure. Finding no connections between plan & act. Alighting — the pathway of lightning. The lightning alit on the pla[i]n[e]. The lightning dismounted the towering, charging storm-cloud.

Rhythm. Stop. Spot. Ought ex em, clap thunder, run, pitty-pat. Answer beside. Sit beside. Answer back the talking drum. Keep clear of the combine. Athwart the balance of the fates - - hanging, a hair's fraction away from a financial cataclysm.

Strip. Aside from the illusions, the masks we wear to walk in society. A place. Not a place, we stand as the essential unfolding of ourselves in unadorned glory of nudity and candle light. We take ourselves in. We say that it is good. We wish for peace of mind. We let go the link of coherence and separate again into wide scattered individuals.

I blink, and return to the woman and painting in front of me in the coffee house.