I just now, just one hour ago, made it over to the ParkeHarrison exhibit at the Sheldon. It has been here since January and I am ashamed of myself that I am such a latecomer to this. These photographs are exactly what I've been trying to do with this new manuscript I'm working on. I feel deflated and inflated. Not only the tone and mood and strangeness and post-apocalypticness (some type of primitive distant future) of them, but even their narratives. I should have been there everyday with my little Mead pocket notebook. Alas!