I’m battling these days. I was diagnosed with autism and ADHD last year, at age forty seven. Late diagnosis are so many things: release, revelation, concern and burden. Today, it manifests in wanting solitude. Even encounters with with gas station attendants can be exhausting. Combined with a week of intense sun exposure and I’m caustic…

I spread fertilizer and walk roughly ten yards a day. Of those, ninety percent will be pocked in dog shit. IMHO, people have too many dogs. Pick up your pet’s poop, especially when you know I’m stopping by. Addendum: if you have a dog, a portion of your yard is fucked. Accept that no amount…

I used to be dismissive about Doc Martens. I’ve always favored the leather upper, but felt they were inferior beside my Red Wing Iron Rangers. A Minnesota native, I have appreciation for the company, their heritage, and have visited their flagship store in their namesake city. Their materials and construction compared to other boots like…

I rate the Electric Fetus with some indifference. The hierarchy of record stores plays like:

Medium charcoal, a too-dry Crayola red marker, and a very deep red posca marker.

I have a pencil fetish. Silky smooth applications of graphite to paper does it for me. This Progresso pencil is entirely graphite, with none of that pesky wood shell to interfere with laying it down.

Drawing

This is my space. It is unconcerned with performatives, stylistic rigidity and expansiveness. Just as paper covers rock, providing shade, shelter, and solace.