How frail the human heart must be—a mirrored pool of thought – says the Nietzsche-like cat on the side of my fridge, a screen-print given to me by this sweet girl at a Mostly Muff Valentine’s show at the Visual Arts Collective.

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter – says Carson McCullers on a book jacket at the high school library. I never finished reading that book, but I still remember that title. I was sixteen.

One-score years later, I wonder if I will ever let myself be hunted. Take off the camouflage. Or put it on, maybe. Wait in blinds, coo into the fog, send decoys, just shoot. At the very least, cock a gun, take a shot. (Even if it’s Dick Cheney shooting his 78-year-old friend in the face as this is my leading mental reference point for hunting.)

But, mostly, I wonder if I painstakingly designed my own heart to be this wild longing untended thing—in a private purgatory of hunger—a permanent state of lonely hunter. no label-handmade? fall hunter camo dress – $15, Super Fantastic Triple Yard Sale | Nine West gray snakeskin heels $3.95 all leather upper; made In Brazil, ReStyle thrift store | black & gold glitter clutch – $7, Idaho Youth Ranch thrift store  

Vinyl of the day: the backside of the Rolling Stones’ Sticky Fingers—album cover designed by Andy Warhol

Cheep. Cheep. Boom.