He picked his way through the images, text, memories, his mind as some sort of dictionary or accounting maze. Time, he had a problem with time, the intake worker at the shelter where his spend a night said playfully on giving the date of his birth:"Just about the big five-o hu" and he was shocked as he had lost all sense of time; some bad habit to go back in his mind to new york, punk rock days, painting and drinking, trying to play the big shot and the start sneering and explaining as, well, other's didn't see it. Bottom feeder society. Some wound or argument and then, madness, not that he was George Normal, there were symptoms, drinking, and then flat out madness so his life became looking at a a river of ice, which he did some, cracking and break, this part of life went so far, then madness; started over, that part when not quite as far, and he'd write, novel or novella and it was never finished as he cracked each time, some apogee, story over.

above left, Bush home on a drive with my case manager