Naked again

Hey all- writing from the apartment, stark naked again.

I've been finding that if I surround my desk with a thin circle of my own urine, it creates a nice, pungent circle of aroma that really allows me to create from a safe space. I know you might think it's gross or whatever, but artists are eccentric! To create art is to intentionally separate yourself from the world around you both literally and figuratively.

One cannot comment on the world at large if one does not create one's own personal watchtower from which to observe, can they?

Salinger enters a self imposed exile, Hemingway dove head first into war and adventure, and Edgar Allen Poe retreated into the madness of opium, so really, blogging in a puddle of my own piss doesn't seem THAT radical.

You'd think the folks at the Verb Cafe might be a little more understanding. I mean Jesus, one little squirt of piss, and I get thrown out of the whole mini-mall? The assholes broke my laptop, too. It's fucking bad enough they don't have Wi-Fi, now I can't even fashion my own personal creative space? What a bunch of phonies. Shit, Iggy Pop used to piss on everything in sight, and they loved him for it.

I am misunderstood.

Ah well- If they don't get it, I'm sorry, guys. The train to the new Bohemia is leaving the station, get on board or get out of the way!

Yeah!

I'm working at the video store tonight. Stop by if you're around.