I gave up on ever trying to get ‘my way.’ I barely knew it existed.

I feel about Manhattan the way I feel about a book, a TV series, a movie, a play, an artist, a song, a food, a whatever that I love. I want to tell you about it so that maybe you will love it, too. I’m not worried about it being ‘ruined’ by too many people ‘discovering’ it. Manhattan’s been ruined since 1626, when Peter Minuit bought it from Native Americans for $24.00.

Manhattan is a narrow island surrounded by various miscellaneous items.

I think maybe to survive, I mean to just get through the day – I’m not saying that everything is hilariously funny.

I wish that, at the end of life, when things were truly “done,” there was something to look forward to. Something more pleasure-oriented. Perhaps opium, or heroin. So you become addicted. So what? All-you-can-eat ice cream parlors for the extremely aged. Big art pictures books and music. EXTREME palliative care, for when you’ve had it with everything else: the x-rays, the MRIs, the boring food, and the pills that don’t do anything at all. Would that be so bad?

The fact that cartoons are reproduced doesn’t mean anything to me as far as whether they are “real art” or not.

Childhood – that was not my favorite time in my life.

I had the impression in art school that cartooning was thought of as a lesser art than painting because cartoons are reproduced, so the “work” is not the single thing like a painting, but instead is the reproduced image.

You could pray all you want that you have a massive stroke while you’re working and die, but possibly that won’t happen, and you’ll be in this bed, and somebody’s going to have to clean you up.

I putter. I nurse old grudges. I fold origami while nursing old grudges. I think about the past. I wonder if there’s any grudges I should start.