Party in St.peteLike the bird in Beowulf I flew in a window saw the great mead hall fo Brian, saw a film full of sound and fury; strut and fret itself upon the screen. I ate and drank and warmed myself at bonfire of friends, explored the heights of beauty and truth. saw a girl make a portrait and longed myself for the trick our DNA plays upon us to replicate itself (already thoroughly covered by Arthur Schnitzler in La Ronde) then like Icarus flew to almost touch the ultimate, just one word and I could have stayed but that is a different ball of wax. I flew back out the window and back to New York