1) I wrote this piece last night; post-supper, upstairs lavatory, armed with a few mostly blank sheets of crumpled post-its (reminders to purchase a few trivial beautification provisions [toothpaste, deodorant, tweezers, razor blades, fake moustache, et cetera]) and a sharpie and a burning enthusiasm for sweating out the feelings; ten minutes spent sitting on the piebald tile floor breathing in the fumes and the fervor, hastily scrawling. I've framed it in gold/pinned on the wall between Jesus and Maynard (Artifact No. 13A), covering the cracks in the plaster like a bandage, caressing the lead paint with its metaphorical tongue:
( the color of caffeine ) smoke , maybe maybe smoke
I'm Pete Scott. I like to think about sentences and structure and creative communication. Sometimes I do things, like take pictures or create code.