A lady walking her border collie yesterday told me Banksy wasn’t a border collie. Probably a mini aussie, actually. I just smile and nod when people tell me stuff. A lot of people know a lot of things. I am a good smiler and nodder while my brain is talking about something else. Probably telling a lengthy tale of wilderness and logging and droughts from days gone by. When horses hauled the redwood out and whalers were lost at sea.

I have this old Black Flag t-shirt, it’s really small and has a Raymond Pettibon drawing of Ronald Reagan as the devil on it. The shirt is from the 90’s. The drawing was from the 80’s. Now it’s the 2014’s and I can’t bear to let go of the shirt. It’s laying there on a chair with a dog bed Banksy ate a chunk out of and a tote bag full of I don’t know what and a globe from the 70’s I bought at a yard sale. And some notebooks. I have a lot of notebooks.

I was going to wash my car today. The dust layer on it looks like it went to Burning Man, but it’s just from being parked at work. Then I was all, drought. So I didn’t wash it. Or clean up the stack on the chair. Or the one on the desk. Thats’ where I pile everything that I remove from Banksy’s mouth, if you were wondering why there are socks and books and maps and stickers and some kind of weird flower pod thing on my desk. And notebooks. Don’t let Banksy eat any notebooks.