The creative mind lives in perpetual tension; balanced tenuously between getting things done and flying by the seat of one’s pants.
The urge to fry every food in sight as one considers the lowly salad; the wide open prairie travels alongside the captured taxi with bright yellow sealed doors and exact mileage.
The need for silence and the need for noise…it’s all a blather and a whirligig bru-haha with a crossed ‘T’ and the dotted ‘I’…a rounding up and a tamping down…
690 Saint Paul 