this morning #1050.

this morning, with the garage door pulled down & the rest of the world safely on the other side of it, i switched on the radio. lit a cigarette. got to work. if i’m lucky, nobody will bother me all day, at least not until this evening. that’ll give me enough time to finish up this project, hopefully put all my critics to bed. they said that i was finished, that my talents have diminished. i’m supposedly a ghost of my former self. they say a ton of ignorant things though. despite my stumbles & setbacks, i’m not dead yet. they need to let me speak for myself, let me adapt. i’m a man, not a factory. let me sculpt my own future. they used to tell me i had a future. i used to believe they knew what they were talking about.