I am still here, it seems.

Maybe you have noticed the dates petering out, as if I was on my last legs, a disappearing, but no.

Somehow the me that is me, is an insistence, more, perhaps than is convenient to myself.

She arrives and takes charge and all the other mes acquiesce.

It is a long time since I started writing here. I am older. She is a mood, and often that mood is weighed down under Responsibilities.

I wriggled out of the skin of my old existence. I left everything and moved, for this self.

I had artistic space. And then I didn’t. Then I did, then not.

Everything takes longer.

I am in a struggle for the existence of a self almost no-one cares about except me.

Except I think you know the feeling.

I have a week in a studio. A week. It seems short.

I have decided to fill it with eternity; love and fire.

Watch me.