i kind of miss getting drunk and collaging. i remember staying up all night in a waterworks tabletop sea of materials just sipping and playing with no critic, or loosing the critic with imbibes. i would be up at dawn, with a strange energy and a stack of work, like i'd opened to something wholly surprising, like i'd been well used. some of those things were so silly or inconsequential they really moved me, like gifts of no occasion, found wandering. now all i do is blog. and then i look at katz and wonder how he does all the stuff he does and on top of that he sells art prints from the blog now, planning two vacations ahead. and i go to pebble beach. not that i'm feeling sorry for myself, honest, or want others to. i just need to think, wow, what do i do? sometimes i feel full though what i do, it's all intangible. other times i feel empty, a man-shaped space just ambling around, waiting to be struck by something. i think of that lightning field where mostly nothing happens. but the waiting itself can be artful, can be beautiful, no? yeah but that's just life. just life? there's always something going on even when nothing is happening, even when you can't tell, even when you go numb with potential and waiting.