But not to shun art that challenges me, I should hope.

 It was a bootless labor to scamper away, I wot, that I couldn't not look, or even if I could not look, they I could not "not see".

I was made to see.

Then there was the melancholy song of the wolf spider in the evening redness.

I walked through the grocery, a monster, none of them knowing what springs were wound inside me(kidding here).  Up on the down side, down on the up side, and generally noticed that there was a sort of symmetry across the headlines, a death of one of Dr King's organizer friends, and then Tom Coburn kicking the bucket, too.  The balance must be restored, I wotted on that too, feeling that spring within move and groan under its stress.

But to say I couldn't turn away, it was a panorama, that.

What, so now I'm shunning art?  Turning away from murals that challenge me?  Why, this would not be the good blogging, the right stuff, if I gave it a toss-aside name including the world "ramble" "rambling" or "ramblings" like some of my friends.

Nay, I differentiate.  A preferred indifferent, an accusatory finger, the finger of scorn.  Stumbling and stammering about the basement rooms, I am, thinking on what kind of good blogging I can toss into the system.

I couldn't not "un-see".

I was made to see.