it's nice out here on cape mudge road, in this little house. I like to stand in my long underwear with a coffee in my hand and stare out the window at the tall trees, moving with the wind or sagging under the weight of the recent snowfall. it's a solitary place. the yellow walls are joyful but I enjoy escaping them in the darkness of night, the silence. my mom would love it here, you hear nothing but your chest rising and falling. I often fill the space with the voices of the intrigued and concerned, the familiar friends in the stereo, radio 1. quite a routine life, up early, fed, dishes, sketching, painting, listening, eating cleaning up, a bath maybe, a record, a book, written conversation, bed etc. it's very new and strange and my thoughts often go with out being vocalized, so I've started talking to myself and making noises into the cupboards, I dress up the bread and dance with the soup. its a great work space. I'm stuffing my jacket and some old pants so I can hug them. just kidding mom, i'm fine. haha. the fleas have put together an orchestra at my request, which is great because other than painting me like a red and pink dalmation, they've proven useless. you should hear them do Beethoven's symphony no. 7. spectacular. I have them working on some beck songs.