I walk in my painting photograph studio. The first time in 3 months. All the paints within their little buckets are dry. I walk out. I have enough paintings and photographs to last me 20 exhibits. “Yeah, my friend did that one, yeah I did that one” Abstract photos, travel photos, indoor surrounding architectural angle photographs, bad party lighting cheap disposable camera pics. Experimental photographs in there too. A few really well done b/w bust photographs. Snap fast casual hidden camera or in your face trigger fast all night flash digital photos. 90’s colour slide transfers. I cringe at the thought of going to a gallery and exhibit these up there. The artists with misconception theories. The out of this world art collectives with their borrowed trends with whom no one can identify, near or far. The others who alienate them and themselves in the process as some kind of artistic road perception aloof unconcerned unpreoccupied distracted and distant, or just boldly disruptive and destructive of their behaviour process. I have a bunch of tapes too. Close to 50. Sitting there. We shall go on playing or find a new wont. To do. Not thinking about anything until something concrete shows up. I ask somebody to squeeze my arm firmly, still. I get up and deck in The Smiths What She Said? And wait till it rewinds.