The creative mind lives in perpetual tension; balanced tenuously between getting things done and flying by the seat of one’s trousers.
The urge to fry every food in sight surges with rebellion as one considers the lowly and plain salad.
The wide open prairie car rides beckon alongside the captured yellow Manhattan taxi cab with sealed doors and exact mileage.
There is the need for exacting silence and the craving for relaxed noise. It’s all a blather and a whirligig bru-haha with a crossed ‘T’ and a carefully dotted ‘I’…a rounding up and a tamping down…
690 Saint Paul 