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matters. It isn't just signs alone. We need to render ourselves receptive, primed, looking to change. But there isn't much space between hopeful receptivity and delirium. Having everything you do blow up in your face can do one helluva rendering job. But be careful, dissatisfaction at the extreme promotes fantasy. Maybe that dove is just a pigeon. Look closer. Confused? Add to that, burnout. Fatigue complicates everything. It blurs. You fail to notice, let alone interpret. Heed, even obvious signs - like frogs dropping out of clouds? What time is it? Fuck the frogs. Or the reverse, reading everything into nothing. So divination has passed in our time to hunch and savvy. Unless a frog can recite in fluent sentences and deliver a signed affidavit, it's just a friggin frog. Today, we sanction and affirm the curious with science while still deferring to our intuition for survival. Funny, huh? We cling to our instincts but espouse science, the religion which has cast intuition into hell. Fortunately, for the bleeding, surgeons use science the same way they use soap. It's important, but they don't worship it. Well, ok, some of the crummy ones do. But more often than otherwise, it is quick intuition, sharpened by science, which brings surgical artists through tempests of churning trauma. Signs? Oh yeah, Macaluso had them. Signs matter. But so does dullness - and pressured distraction. There was even more of that.