I hung my sweater on the back of a door for a while the other day, but it just didn't feel right, didn't seem right. I could walk right out of this particular room and forget the sweater hanging there. It's hardly what I have in mind, these two hooks on the back of a door.

But everything's keeping me busy enough that coatracks aren't at the top of the stack in mind. Low priority as long as the temperature remains reasonable... as long as I can get by with picking up whatever I tossed on my dresser in a pile earlier.

But right now, it feels perfectly fine outside. No coatrack necessary, no sweater nor flannel shirt. Just walk on outside and enjoy.

So I do, and it's great. Nothing to it, just stroll on out the door, breathe deep and look around. Look up, look down and up the street, lights here and there, overhanging grey. No moon, no stars, just diffuse glow from lights elsewhere, turning what's overhead into a purplish orange.

I add my own clouds to the mix and imagine rabid anti's out there claiming I'm killing them... But I shrug and puff and drag on the end of the cancer stick like an old friend (it is) that's stuck by me (it has) even if it must kill me (as if everything else doesn't)... I shrug in my cloud and take a sip of more poison, ponder going inside to stick my head in the oven for a few minutes before bed.

I forget a lot of things I intend to do, mainly because I intend to do too much. Everyday thinking, 'I oughta get busy changing the world...' But I wind up heading home with nothing to show for my days, not even a coatrack.

Just some relative progress in an inconsequential field of interest, one of collaboration with the empire I despise...But I want to make it easier for everyone, even the slaves...

So I step out again in short sleeves and wonder what this has to do with anything.