I don’t believe.

Origin story. Globe shaped glass bottles. Wrong buses. Mismatched maps.

Coffee. Tea. Bread and wine. Steps that lead down to certain death.

Ambient sounds and methodic music as a background to everyday life.

The reality that the next creative thing lies on the visible horizon is palpable. It’s so fucking close. What we don’t know is the exact form it will take and that’s the unsettling part. Everything was always crystal clear when it came to making things, but then the practice slowed down and the rhythm broke up. When the reps stop happening, the form fades and the images become blurry.

Forced words. Forced feelings. Retract.

Paintbrush.

Hang the paper towels in the closet and wipe down the counter. Scrub the side of that big ugly machine and wonder why there is no process. You asked and they told you. Consistency. Process. Leadership. It’s literally that simple.

Put the thing together. Put it together, figure out where to send it and make it happen.