Beer cans and butts -

- Yuck. Cleaning last night's residue left me bitter and unmotivated. I put the half finished collage behind the couch with the remnants of many similar Friday nights. Fridays I drink, smoke and collage. Saturdays I clean, eat and repent.

While I was making concentric circles out of the women's wear pages I was convinced that my latest work would be brilliant. So much mystery hidden in the relationship between content and form. Expensive leather moccasins treading on trendy kitchenware, while matching hall stands stood sentry by the flatware. It totally made sense after a six pack and some of my great new green goddess. I admit, it was a bit of a journey to catch the significance of the whole piece, but isn't great art always a bit obtuse?

Last night's task of interweaving subtle sand on sandalwood textures has becomes today's vacuuming. Small scraps of glossy paper peak out everywhere and taunt me. These are the moments that I wish I had a TV.