shapely

If I were feeling up to it I would marry the ob(vi/noxi)ous parallel of picture to text and pontificate, laboriously to be sure, on my robust laxness in attempting to upkeep multiple foci. Then again, not 'feeling up to it' reinforces this attitude. And what of an intentional mis-focus?

First, I found a video I shot a few weeks ago (the stills have vanished), then an old paper I wrote about Uta Barth. These germinations spread in a vast rapidity.

I need an upgrade across the borderline board. Searingly crimson hibiscus iced tea in a stubby green glass (like the cathedral rose window I've seen only in rumply-bound library tomes) and clean duvets sprawled over angular pine tabletops: these institutions are forcefully buttressed, foregrounded in a now-leering sun. Birch buds blow and blossom boisterously (not here and hear: they are oaks, mostly, myrtles). A bio(hap)hazard, this. That.