The great escape
After the passing of a friend I found myself frazzled. What I thought was pathetic attempts at art only served as presents until then, but I spread out magazines and clippings across my living room floor in a frantic attempt at gathering my thoughts, or perhaps finding them. I began cutting things, lighting cigarette after cigarette, gluing them together in the sequence of time like I did with the paper in my hands to find purpose. I certainly wasn’t aware, but it was there; it was there in the glue much like it was there in the cuttings and the sentences I couldn’t yet speak; I miss you, where are you, why did you leave? Where can I find you?
