I wonder if, when Freud was doing lines of cocaine, he'd taken the time to look in the mirror at himself. There must have been one nearby, though I can't be sure. I wonder if Freud would have been struck by the odd visual projection of reality he was witnessing – one in which reality was reversed, the other in which reality took on different textualities and meanings. Mirrors and cocaine, working together to distort reality. Of course, Freud had other obsessions. Maybe he just kept running lines until he tripped on his naked subconscious. * * * There was a time when people believed in my golden radiance. When my sunshine locks, gave a sense of home to those that have traveled so far. Still, today, for as long as I can remember, children of all persuasions greedily smile at me. Rub their snotty hot noses in the cluster of my gold dust pollen, like flightless huge lumbering bumblebees. As usual, they will pluck me from the earth to wear as crowns. I anoint immature queens. Gi