I'll be in the lower forty-eight for the next week working on my five o'clock shadow, cavorting with horses, and drinking from dirty glasses. Barring something really noteworthy, this space will be a little quiet for a while.

I leave with a little gem I read today that seems appropriate in our day of super-high resolution, tack sharp, HDR, pixel-perfect imagery. I think I'll stencil it to the back of my Holga:

Is there not often something in the very neglect, unfinish, careless nudity, slovenly hiatus, coming from intrinsic genius, and not ‘put on,’ that secretly pleases the soul more than the wrought and re-wrought polish of the most perfect verse?