Covers, Revolts, and My Own True Love

I did a quick mock-up of a poster/cover yesterday.  Getting ahead of myself, I know, but I didn't want to lose the idea when I saw it.  The image just embodies so much of what I think I'm trying to say sometimes when I think about what I'm trying to say.  I sent it around to some people to see what they thought.  Even the art director in NYC liked it, and she usually renders harsh critical judgement.  I didn't hear back from some, so I am taking those as "no" responses.  I will post it here so that any of you can have your say, too.  I just think these images would make a beautifully troublesome book.

Trouble.  I don't need any more.  The factory bosses are flexing their puny muscles, but times being what they are, the proles have taken to their holes.  I am posturing myself as a Stoic, but everyone postures him or herself as something.  When trouble strikes, internal psychological shifts take place so that you can live with yourself.  You do not tell yourself you are a coward.  You tell yourself you are pragmatic.  Now is not the proper time, you say.  All the planets are not aligned.  You will bide your time with a quiet, personal revolution, you say.  But when the time comes, you'll be ready.  Who dares condemn you now?

Some are better at it than others.

The weekend comes, and I'm exhausted.  I can't wait to do nothing.  I want the lonely hours to flow through me like a desert balm.  We have been lucky.  The hurricane has passed us by.  And maybe there will be more luck, too.  I might take a chance and place myself in some sidewalk cafe for a while and see if I will happen to meet my own true love.  I've given up waiting for the tap-tap-tapping at the door.  But if it doesn't happen, I will not worry too much.  I have much and cannot kick.  If Allah wishes to punish me for having been such a beautifully sweet and loving boy. . . it is written.  I can always succor myself with "The Old Man and the Sea."

Sure.