On the front step on the apartman built when I stepped outside this past Saturday morning, SCA steed in hand, to move fast and clear my head for thinking. "R E T R E A T" seems a significant found fortune word in these trying times.
Monday afternoon, after mailing to the author a final shipment of a book now declared Out of Print with full reversion of all assigned rights, I walk toward the river and the approaching thunderstorm on my route homeward. Came across this incredibly faded ___P sign. How many years has it been here to weather itself this way? Incredible. A good find, me thinks.
While taking the CDs for last night's Ashes, Paper & Beans episode out of my carrying case a little piece of paper fluttered and made for the rough, the live wire landscape under the mixing board in CHSR's Master Control Room. An actual sentence, this time. A message. Guidance. Seemed linked to the two previous finds. It became the entry to end my artist journal started 14 May 2006.
Retreat • Stop • Look for the flare •
T: SFRJ
loc uncomCtr
temp: 20 C
sound: Sex Pistols Never Mind the Bollocks Here's the Sex Pistols
1 comment:
I'll have to look for that stop sign. At first, I thought that you were showing the back of it!
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