I have never let an editor fuck me. I am a communist. An editor’s main function is to get me paid. Many gnawing around in the Airport Bar, and the truth is that if you had any of their rum, turns out it wasn’t really rum. It was a psychedelic brew where psychedelic angels arrived with emergency drugs for writers. Who are in a special category. No child says: I want to be an editor when I grow up. It has never happened in history. A man went into a bar. I have never wanted any of them. I have not needed them. I have tolerated most of them. Not well. Be careful what you wish for. I became one. I was editing both books and magazines. I am my own editor. Why do I need you. Why are you here is a question most editors are never asked. Why in the world are you here. In this life. Most people bumble about like busy bees. I, too, am a busy bee. Enough with scandal. I am now (what else) a photographer. The vision is the same. If a publication is doing Covid and health care, I am compelled to do the whole hospitals at night dog and pony show. Yet innovation in photography is everywhere. I want all that shit. It will never happen. My new camera takes photographs as good or better than any SLR. As with writing, it’s about what you can get away with. What the fuck do they teach in these schools. The weeny camera fits into any of my pockets. Smaller than a match box. But it makes for a big dick. I am impotent. It’s as if the camera disappears only to reappear when I want it to. If you are telling staff that your time is deeply compressed into moments, if they are looking at you intently, they have no idea what you are talking about. The magazines are monsters. Books are easier. One of the magazines I edited was Mach. There is no advertising. It was actually fun. That photo shoot is now relegated to history. The whole thing was uncivil because it did not translate to a stereotyped vernacular. I am such a cunt. You could go for what you wanted but you had to WANT to sculpt the publication like a statue can stare back at you with impunity. Online magazines have to compete with online magazines. Poor them. The arrogance is unnerving. Been there. Done that. I prefer just living as an ordinary human being. Editors have no reason to live. I am still a communist.