April 19, 2000: Dark room
People who read what I write expect sentences and word placement to be correct and in proper order. Yet, before it begins I mention how none of it’s perfect. What’s worse are those who choose to read and become silent, never having anything to say. I call this treatment an invisible fluid—it runs within your veins making you sick, lethargic and unwilling. The attempt is to push harder hoping to beat what can’t be seen. You become tired, physically exhausted and creatively weak. Being an artist allows you to watch little pieces of your self die each day you live—I become blind…using only words and nothing else.