Thank you to all my like-minded brethren and sistren. I wish I had the capacity to say your sympathies cheered me, but with this empty cavity throbbing where my heart should be, all I can say is that, like a thick application of novocaine, your words have dulled the pain somewhat.

Tonight I painted some pictures of trees. They were unsatisfactory, so I took out my intaglio print carving knife and slashed the painting to ribbons. I cut my hand a little —- well, a lot — in the process. I let the blood drip onto the dangling threads of canvas. I think, as in the short story by Graham Greene, my destruction became, itself, an artful construction.

This may be my best work yet.

On that note, I should go get stitches. This entry was typed entirely with one hand . . .