So, I mailed off one of the last few copies of an artist’s book it took me a million years to make, and it ended up getting delivered to somewhere in the hinterlands of Limbo. So it’s gone forever, I guess. Which is breaking my heart like a dwarf is in there with a hammer smashing all the 40-watt bulbs in the dwarf cave in the middle of my soul.
Anyway, if you live in Chicago and you see this book floating around, please let me know, because I definitely want it back. It was one of my favorite ones and the loss of it is likely not going to be totally bearable. Either financially or spiritually. I mean, it was going to a new home, and that’s a kind of loss, but I can deal with that. It’s the idea that it ended up in the trash that’s causing all the trouble with my innards. That used to happen a lot in art school, that you would see your work in the garbage after a group exchange. But that’s school and so it doesn’t count as a real hurt. It counts a ton in real life, though.