you’ve got to say something. you’ve got to say something real, and you’ve got to mean it. there was a poet, once, who said, “make something beautiful before you are dead.” we don’t speak of him anymore. when do we separate the art from the artist? where does the scale tip, and how much does it weigh? the lines have become so blurry, the lines between everything. i am not just a performance, i am a metric. which of my limbs are good, and which are rotten, and who decides all of it?