I tried to illuminate my life through art but only managed to fill the page with disconnected squiggles and dots. Attempting some arabesque curlicues, I gouged the paper and spilled the ink which dribbled in a random manner, ending up as droplets on the floor.

I seized the initiative and some charcoal and attacked the surface with both hands. My best intentions ended up as ugly smudges. Desperate to prove my aesthetic quality, I drew on my deepest reserves and hurled myself body and soul at my life’s work, but to no avail.

All I could do was abandon my mission, now that I had lost all credibility with myself. I fell onto the bed distraught, convinced that I was unconvincing. My hand crawled along the bed cover like a wounded animal, seeking the answer. When I seized the remote control life finally made sense.

In the half light of the motel room, I prayed to the great god TV for deliverance. It came in the form of forgetfulness and blissful ignorance that descended like dust from the stucco ceiling. I lay there like a smudge on the page of humanity.