The stuff they build can be a HodgepodgeCollagePodge of objects all around them. Sometimes, they take photographs, rip them up, and tape them to the wall. Sometimes, the set will be taciturn and unforgiving. Sometimes, what they cobble together is nothing anyone could have anticipated.

I do not critic this in any way. I might ask the question: tell me about this over here. They love fisherman’s fishing nets.

Because they catch a lot of things. If they open up, which is rare, they’ll talk about when someone caught them. It’s personal. It can be an open wound.

Our culture hates children.

Today, we are starving them. The rich eat. The poor aren’t so lucky. Over half of children live in dire poverty. We need a lot more abortions. I have stopped attempting to interfere in what I think will be a suicide. I keep the impression to myself. I do talk to kids about not wanting to be here, and how that makes them feel, but I can’t really talk them out of it. They have seen too much. They know what the world is.

I cannot be around them as I am writing this book, GOING ROGUE.

Because, then it would become about them. They are damaged, and there it is. They are damaged because they are expendable. We. Do. Not. Care. Our words are ephemeral. Our actions count. There is no hiding place from that.

I will call him Tiger.

I talk to him on the phone every night.

Burner phones are best.