The sleep of the dead has revived me. 8 hours of mindless darkness. I wake with a ghost of shadow in my head. Brew a pot of coffee, each cup lightens the hangover of shadow.

A work day: time is not my own. The trick is to make it mine, even when in the orbit of others. My job is to talk, to dream, to chase 'the deal'. I am the one with 'faith.' I am to bring the others with me, without looking like a mad prophet.

I put on the valence, the shirt, the suit, of a new man. This valence is my cloak and my protection. It is me and not me. There is a spark, a light, a kernal of integrity, that no one can touch. I hold it like a little bird. It is quiet, breathing softly, eyes like little black pearls, waiting (expecting) to fly.