There are always people (on the fucking Internet) who claim that I am pure evil. They also maintain that I kill children to eat them. How many people am I supposed to fight. If I am so deranged and greedy, then why did I turn down being gifted any car I wanted. I said, no, thank you. I tried the idea on for size, but it didn’t fit. On any given Sunday, back then, I had no idea what I wanted. But evil. I do not know, and I have never heard of a single one of the people who would ruin me if they could. I slammed into their literary territory. The piece of publishing they own and they are not giving it up without a fight. I am so bored of these one dimensional homo sapiens that I could spit in their vile mouths. To a person, they resent that they followed the rules (I do not know BiggyBear1234). I do not know *7Pussy (seven pussies). I do not know HarrietBooksC-jj. But they seem to know me. Apparently, I signed her book: To Harriet from Tim. Originality is not allowed. I did not know there was an invisible rule that says: Writers may not contact critics. Why. So the critic is not dragged into the public spotlight and humiliated. This sounds like a solution, not a problem.

I live out of one canvas bag. A change of clothes and camera gear. Phone. That’s about it. A jeep would not fit into the bag. But how do you live without – whatever. It’s not living without as much as it’s a living within the boundaries. On one side, you are what you own. On the opposite side, you will be judged on what you own. The game is rigged. Next year, you will need an upgrade to you might Have Less and Less and Less Options.

One bag. One life. When you croak, what sacred thing do you take with you when you meet the old man who sits on a throne with angels at his feet upstairs in the clouds where birds chirp and cherry trees blossom and fat white men are dressed as ballerinas, and how this absurdity started no one knows. We know who the old hoot is but we do not know the owls. There are too many ideas in this bag.

Often, they try to escape from the bag, and I have to spank them and call them bad ideas. One of thousands.

I am used to being naked in laundromats waiting for a dryer. Just pretend you are reading People Magazine.