I’m a designer, I think. Fuck school, I partied with the NYU film kids. The fashion kids. The music kids. Kids. Met a kid who saved me from burning the dorm carpet with my cigarettes. He looked like Bob Dylan. I looked like shit. My senses were so numbed. The only time I was awake was at the MoMA. Fuck, did you see the Bauhaus exhibition? It was divine. Went to church for the first time, but for an orchestra. My tears fell. It was fall. The leaves looked like fire. And the daddies in Brooklyn said I have fuego in me… while looking at my ass. What a lost cause. Today the flames blaze my heart and not the dope. It sings uncontrollably, obsessively and impulsively. It can’t stop. I can’t stop.

Yes, I’m a designer.

No, I am more than that.