Let me tell you a story. The story of my mind. I find it interesting that sometimes the brain has more it wants to say then we have time to let it. Obviously, I express myself in images. At first, these images start as pictures burned in my brain like negatives of a film roll (remember those?), I wrestle them to fit my life. I wrestle them to stay put until I have time for them. The longer they sit the more they disrupt my sleep invading my dreams like ants on a sticky spot on the kitchen counter that someone forgot to wipe up. Eventually, I give in and let them have their day in the sun making their way from my head to my fingers. Lately, I can't define the difference between an idea and a thought, an emotion and a passing phase. Maybe simply letting these images speak for themselves isn't enough anymore. When did the war start and who won? Nobody told me.