Withlacoochee River, 1986

Strange, how there’s no money in bending spoons, levitating, walking through walls, eating fire. Stranger still, the mind’s tireless insistence on returning to the same vault of memory:  a woven hammock bleached by the sun, beach glass, the texture of a Van Gogh, metallic oysters, cold beer, fried shrimp, French vanilla ice cream. Strangest ofContinue reading “Withlacoochee River, 1986”