IPA

I got beer. It was hops full. There was a loud man. He was dressed in all black Spaniard clothes. He wore puffy shorts. I drew with a ball point pen. I watched vintage basketball. I sat in the window.

My friend's art reminds me of this scene with the shovel. He is doing some very esoteric digital "code corruption" work. I approached the critique by thinking he needed someone to help him make sense of the work, to find meaning in it. I resolved to assure him that much like the meth head digging with a fervor of meaning full meaninglessness, that his obsession might share these motivations. In a turn of the trickster's carrot flavored rattle we follow our noses down this mine. I think he has tricked the trickster though. Humbly serving the act of creating for the sake of creating, win win.