...and When Is Enough Proof Enough?

I Love Sushi, I Love Fried Chicken, I Love Steak. But There Is A Limit To My Love.

I Wanted So Much To Have A Life. Even Just Once, Even For A Second.

Art Art Is That Thing Having To Do Only With Itself—the Product Of A Successful Attempt To Make A Work Of Art. Unfortunately, There Are No Expamples Of Art, Nor Good Reasons To Think That It Will Ever Exist. (everything That Has Been Made Has Been Made With A Purpose, Teverything With An End Exists Outside Of That Thing, I.e., "i Want To Sell This", Or "i Want This To Make Me Famous And Loved", Or "i Want This To Make Me Whole", Or Worse, "i Want This To Make Others Whole.") And Yet We Continue To Write, Paint, Sculpt And Compose. Is This Foolish Of Us?

I See Myself As Someone Who Makes Things. Definitions Have Never Done Anything But Constrain.

The American Dream Itself Is Declining.