And what I have, what I am, is enough, was always enough for me, and as far as my dear little sweet little future is concerned I have no qualms, I have a good time coming.

We are all born; some remain so.

Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.

Life is habit. Or rather life is a succession of habits.

I pause to record that I feel in extraordinary form. Delirium perhaps.

In the landscape of extinction, precision is next to godliness.

To find a form that accommodates the mess, that is the task of the artist now.