I often daydream about a parade of changing moods. A shift from miraculous laserlight love to bone-dread in a shifting city-prison to prismatic orbital ratchet clicks of far out hands dirty discovery to a blanket-warm page turner melancholy with rain patter on a window. I feel them simultaneously, as I might upon reading the final page of an epic novel that included each in its due time. But I can’t bear the time. I can’t bear to compartmentalize these feelings into time. They are all happening at once, and I don’t know how to cry out the sound of the buzzing, the harmonic and sometimes terrifying sound of so much in unison. I don’t even think I’m concerned with individual items. I am concerned with colors conjured from overlay. I am through with the essential, the simple. Give me a complexity that is so chaotic and sophisticated that it is unspeakable. Give me something that I must pass through that forces the plants just beneath my skin to sprout and grow wild. I wish to jettison these memories and imaginations that never get enough opportunities to bubble forth to the surface.