Dear Reader

I have so many questions.

Words, sounds, images; ideas masquerading in different media. Competing for resources and reproductive rights alongside every other me-me-meme. I’m the gatekeeper, and the keymaster. I am the single point of consciousness embodied, a glass ceiling of order imposed on the chaos of the material.

It might be something else through your filters and instruments, by your references and senses. But this is also an intimate conversation, or put another way, the inner monologue out loud. I’m a tree growing in the woods, even if nobody is around. I write so that I can read the unspoken word. I draw out the underworld onto white paper. I make music to hear the movements of galaxies and I take pictures because I savor dreams.