I loathe wasting; I use 50 sheets of paper towels to clean my kitchen floor

I am repulsed by my body; I incessantly draw objects that evoke the vagina, the penis, the scrotum, the boob, the fallopian tube, the sperm

I hate wearing underwear; I currently own 78 pairs of panties – I just threw away 10 pairs last week

I am mesmerized by spaces and the idea of creating them; Pen on paper is my drug of choice

I am terrified by the prospect of failure; I have no expectations for what I make, am making

I revel in spontaneity; I have aneurisms when I lack order

The process and thus product of my work is spontaneous; my work evolves from the repetition of a single act

They are not to make statements; they reveal components of time, obsessiveness, and the grotesque

They are complete works; they are Doodles.

(disclaimer, again) 2005

I fear I will be late to everything
I’m usually the first one there
Time always seems to be running out
I can slow it down
Make it expand or collapse

I make things
Really small
Of minute matter
That take up little space
That take up a time of their own

I get bored quite easily
I find myself tying knots all the time
Now there’s over 90,000
They can fit in a lunchbox
I can’t seem to tie enough

I see 11:11 nearly every time
I look at a clock
I wonder what happens in between
when I don’t look, when I don’t remember
Whether time passes, reoccurs, or schisms

I know my mind well enough to call it Unstable
This will remain a constant
Thus its constructs
Time, space, memory
Are just as vulnerable, laden with ruptures and fiction