Time is so strange. I remember being on the UGA campus in the 90s outside the dorms on a funky yellow misty spring day when it was still mostly winter. It was Monday between classes. I remember being completely alone. It was my third year in school. I took my drawing board with me everywhere. I remember sitting on a yellow hill and drawing lamp posts and bushes by myself. I knew even then that art was a terrible profession. I remember Innervisions every day after class. I remember not fitting in. I remember the feeling of being unsure of my future. I remember hostile and aloof teachers. I remember knowing that this strange span of time would stick with me. And it did. That time was like a rash – like some sort of tunnel to the future. A future that blows. Purple alien Graffiti Bug.
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