I'm Pulling On My Boots.

I'm pulling out of this black-dog mood that's been stalking me. I've had quite enough, thank you very much.

The hardest thing I will ever do in this life, is to believe in myself. Easily, the hardest thing. With luck and much determined effort, I know this beast will be laid low. I'm relying on:

• The Ocean.
• Ray Charles.
• Images of St. Mark's Basilica in Venice.
• Super-glue.
• Lope de Vega's play, "Fuente Ovejuna."
• My bike, a proud Bianchi Volpe touring model, built by Elven master-craftsmen long ages since, One Bike to Rule Them All.
  
• My Library card.
• Catullus' fragments, and John Donne's sonnets, and Elizabeth Bishops poems.
• My boots.
• Mt. Tabor, the only dormant volcano within the city limits of a US municipality (in the lower 48 states, that is).
  
• The Hawthorne Bridge.
• Post-it notes.
• The NY Times crossword puzzle.
• "Alberta, 'Berta" and "When I Went Down to Leland", recorded on the Parchman Prison Farm in the '40's.
  
• V.S. Naipaul.
• Rain.
  
• Joyce Carol Oates.
• This blog.
  
• Moveable feasts.
• Coffee.
• String quartets.
• My barongs tagalog.
• Mos Def.
• Our Lady of Remedies.
• Son Volt.
  
• Nikos Kazantzakis (goddammit I need to update my What I'm Reading sidebar).
• Images of the facade of the Ummayad palace of Mshatta.

These things, and so very much more, are icons of my self, which is greater than the sum of my parts and only partially reflected through these facets. I am the only living being built this way. I have much work to do. Let's get it on.