Mike McMenamin had this crazy idea: buy up a bunch of antique/quirky buildings in the Great Northwest and turn 'em into pubs. He started brewin' his own beer (the famed Hammerhead Amber Ale and the legendary Terminator Stout) roastin his own coffee, distillin' his Hogshead Whiskey, and grilling up a variety of mouth-watering barbeque burgers.
The Grand Lodge is an old Masonic Lodge which he and his cronies have converted into a Pub/Hotel. They hired a bunch of young scruffy monkeys to run the place. I am a scruffy monkey - willing to subject myself to the ignominy for a penny or two. Temporarily.
My brother and I, in the meantime, have started a little business of mural painting. We've done 1 so far, but we are well on our way to 2. I promise. The 3rd job is out there beyond the horizon - I can feel it.
My mind is transitioning back into Think Phase. Note: it must take a lifetime to really understand oneself and the cyclical patterns of one's being. But in this postulated Think Phase, due to increased Thinkageness, I begin to once again ruminate words and concepts rather than images and ideas. (I just made a semantic division between concepts and ideas that I am too apathetic to make certain - I would only use dictionary.com anyway.)
The spirit of my imagination fluctuates between these two worlds. The creative engine of my art is sometimes lingual and sometimes experiential, imagistic - and it almost depends on this mood, or temperature, of the soul. Which in turn really depends on how good I am feeling about current experience - I am happy, awake, and hopeful? Or does that depend as well on this soul-temperature? What influences what - thats the question. Chicken or the egg. What is the first cause of the changes within me? Chemical? Can I know - can it be specified?
I sat in the dimming evening light back behind the Yardhouse Grill at the Grand Lodge and ate my BBQ Chicken Sandwhich, while ideas hovered like fireflies in the dark of my unverbalized and tired mind.