So then I think, why not take half-finished things, things that lost their momentum, and be my own cut-up, and they’re a new life-form? The plague doctor a colored pencil drawing from when I was doing art therapy. The nurse a marker drawing in a diner, boldly slapped over some cartoon doodles that just weren’t right.

Insomniac hypnogogia sex permeates through to the next conscious state, and the next, and the next…


The title of this is “Who Leaves First Shall Die”. I wish the internet could tell me the name of the artist instead of just endless pontifications on gender roles. I see mutual trust, like the “edge” is not so much in the blades as it is in letting yourself go into that kind of connection.


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