today, constrained and pressed for time by the prospect of being at work, i visited the library and got out four books: dharma bums (kerouac) [in which beatniks hit the road], street renegades [in which artist intervene in open-air urban spaces], mail me [in which artists set their art to flight by drawing and painting on postal envelopes], destination art [in which artists create pieces in the wilderness requiring their viewers to travel to remote locations]. i step outside the library. i step outside. outside, and into my car. what is my subconscious telling me?