The Mark

I decided not to take an Uber today. I pretended someone was tailing me and I would try to lose them. I popped into hidden corners and shops and then took a picture of the person as they walked by. To make it feel more real, I sent the photo to a friend along with a cryptic message that said, “Find another mark.”. I even tried to see how quickly I could change my shirt and hat, like in a movie.

When I got to the studio, I printed the photo. The guy was blurry, but he looked right at the camera. I scanned the image for texture, printed it out again, and traced the shape of another character I had over the top of the image. Then I cut that out and fed it into AI. Then did that again. Back to Photoshop. Print. Cut. Scan. The result was unexpected and pleasantly trippy.

Then I got a reply from my friend. It said, “I didn’t know you knew Mark. Please don’t tell him I’m back from my parents.”

I stared at the message for a while. I didn’t reply.

Eight Chair

The Eighth Chair

I had that dream about swallowing my teeth again. And I don’t recognize that chair.

Seven is what I counted when I moved in, but now there’s an eighth.

It’s different from the others—stained darker, a little shorter, with legs that don’t quite sit evenly on the floor. At first, I assumed I’d brought it in from another room and forgotten, but that didn’t make sense. The studio isn’t big enough to lose track of a chair.

I sat in it. It wobbled slightly, as if testing whether I’d notice. I didn’t move again for a while, just watched the light shift across the room.

I printed out some teeth. Then I pasted them over another figure I was working with and scanned it. Then I gave that to MidJourney. Then I Photoshopped the result.

Later, I taped the printed results to the wall. They felt wrong, so I tore them down and started over. The process repeated three times until I was satisfied or too tired to care. When I turned around, the eighth chair was gone.

That should’ve been the end of it. But now I can’t remember what the seventh chair looks like.

I need to go to the dentist next week.

Myself

I Awoke to Find Myself on an Operating Table

There’s a sound I keep hearing in the studio. It comes and goes—sometimes loud enough to notice, other times just at the edge of perception. I thought it was the heater kicking in, but it’s not that. I thought it was my neighbor’s radio, but it’s not that either.

Yesterday, it stopped entirely. The absence made me realize how much space it had been taking up. It wasn’t distracting, exactly. If anything, I’d started working in sync with it. The kind of sound that shapes how you move without you realizing it. When it came back, I found myself waiting for it to stop again.

I wouldn’t call it music, though I caught myself humming along once. Not intentionally—it just slipped out.

When I went back to sleep, I was here with you now.

Paperclip

I Picked Up the Paperclip

I found a cricket in the studio this morning. It wasn’t dead, but it wasn’t moving either. Just sitting in the corner, its legs folded under it like it was waiting for something.

I crouched down to look at it closer. Its body was too perfect—like it had been designed rather than grown. Shiny, symmetrical, untouched by dust. I thought about picking it up, but I didn’t. I left it there and went to make coffee.

By the time I came back, it was gone.

In its place was a paperclip, bent slightly out of shape. It sat there like punctuation, holding nothing but itself.

I drew a woman that reminded me of the cricket. Then I gave that to MidJourney, and then I took it into Photoshop and made some edits. After that, I put it back into MidJourney. Then I printed it, cut it up, and scanned it in my scanner. Then I put it back into Photoshop.

That was fun. I think I’ll try more of these.

I’m glad that Julian is out, but the links are dead, and so is Seth. The paperclip is still on the floor. I think I’ll leave it there.