I'm not sure how I got here. I mean, I do know exactly how, I was fully awake for all of it. And what I am doing is the most valuable thing I can do in this life. But it keeps bumping around in my head that I have made the transition from someone who makes art to someone who consumes it. It's not like I get to consume it very often, even, and when I do, it is not as enjoyed as when I make it myself.

I live in a place where human interaction doesn't really happen. Peoples cars interact with each other, peoples shiny happy interacts with each other. I work in a place where people think they are good because they do good. It's the laziest kind of self-satisfaction I have ever seen. I haven't met a real person yet, one that if I flipped them over wouldn't reveal their cardboard backing.

In my garden in Brooklyn the new vines have grown over up over the barbed wire. There is a new bakery opening up around the corner. I wonder what it will smell like in the room I used to sleep in, the room with red walls.