Time flexing like a whore

Too little of it, need more to look at a picture of black and white fur. Nights are desolate places in my mind, no one watching, no one purring.

And too much of it. How much longer obliging this hobby-turned-into-job-and-hating-the-hobby. I had so many dreams, had so many break throughs.

Can I go back over twelve years, when the deadline was tomorrow and I wasn't even 30? Where I'd work a full day, come home and tend the flowers and weeds, and still find energy and time to spend with my friends who now sometimes keep me awake anight with their urgent questions. Always the same questions, as it is. Where will we go? How will we end? Tell us, write it all down...

Is that you, CowWatcher?
What was the name you called me? (wind - called - crow - lift head - lonely)