I celebrate letting go. Realizing everything happens quickly and that people change, not trying to stop it, and feeling accomplished in that. I celebrate death. I think the process of death is like a new season, a new life, it’s always meant adventure to me. I may be scared of death, but I welcome death when it comes. It’s the reason I always say happy birthday to myself at funerals. I love the death card, it means new. I celebrate black: the sum of all colors. I have nothing to mourn, but feel youthful and striking, like my face is the light in a looming shadow or silhouette. Classic, yet strong. Protected, like I am wearing a bit of NY armor. I never stay possessive over an idea - I spread it like wild fire, knowing there is never a limit on creativity. I am simply a poor vessel for something much greater than me. I celebrate pens. They let me bring monsters and monuments to life. They allow me to carve rooms, and faces, people and spaces with nothing more than a pen and a surface to impure. They allow me to sculpt entire worlds and release haunting spirits of my living past, all by writing. i can create anything that exists and doesn’t exist. It feels powerful.