I've never been very good at plunging off cliffs - pointing my nose in a direction and just going for it. I've hopped off many a low mound, even over some fences, but cliffs? surely you jest. After all, flying requires faith in the failure of gravity. And these are grave circumstances, these melancholy days of wine and pigment. Gravity doesn't just pull you down, it presses. You're under its thumb. A heavy digit weighted with expectation, and your glory days as an oblivious, but driven, hot shot in college - nearly 20 years ago. What have you done since? Who cares. I've got the balls by the bulls. Well, at least I've tickled a sac or two.