A little Voodoo perhaps, it seems that the sunshine of California has finally found its native sons. Is it time for my gin and tonic yet?
Maybe not, but the season of love or at least hormonal imbalance is upon us at last. To consummate it as a consumer or as a savory simmering broth.
Not brothel brother, why bother, since the love that's in the air makes wing, leaving no traces like the particularly American discomfort known as 'the morning after'.
Alas this issue of THINK, like its predecessors meanders as you may find yourself doing, hopefully, along the fragrant groves and not ungodly countryside that surrounds us on all sides.
To love a city, all of the frustrations and toxins your soul exploits for increasing its musculature, can be left on the ground, and you alone, open palmed behind dark shades can feel the weightlessness of your first platonic brush with fair Golem.
Now, that said, finding actual live humans with which to trust, accept, cautiously cherish should be either easier or more difficult depending on the weather (thank you father Sarducci).
You will not understand this or any issue of Think, in the same way that having a complete understanding of your lover would perhaps be stagnating.
On the other hand it can be nice to receive your fix of nicotine stained anarchobabble every first of the month, so contrary to the cycles of the moon, but this too shows us no love.
Issue number 5, just deal with it! (Plato, symposium 203c)
No, no, what he really said was that "Love shows our lack of compassion, itself being harsh and arid, barefoot and homeless, sleeping on the naked earth, in doorways, or in the very streets beneath the stars of heaven."
This is deep, or it means you should get your booty out to apartment land quick, because the Italian hats are out, and the price of cheese on hot dogs is goin' up.