Truth

You know I've lost over one hundred pounds. I buy clothes now; not only do I care about my appearance but I appear. I'm not a closeting escaped artist.

But I've never felt more unattractive.

Bits of Me

Sometimes those over-simplified, pointedly pointless, self-help blurbs come to fruition. My work really is separate from me.

No, that is a lie, I don't believe that. I believe the opposite. I believe every nuanced mark and every absent scrawl is a culmination of my existence.

But I should pretend I do believe it, at least for tonight. At least to everyone else, at least for my sake.

Place

I'm torn between the city and the streets.

I'm torn between the urban and the lost and never found. The back alley forests that no one would ever peer. The little coffee bakery in a small town with a large heart.

I find myself in the city sometimes. Somehow fulfilling all my desires to be inconsequential in the most consequential of places. I can feel one of a million millions. I can feel the singularity, the solidarity. I am tempered to live in that abyss that makes me feel like nothing while feeling everything. Fear and fate and simple out-of-my-hands complicity.

But I'm torn between the city and the streets.