I feel like there's nothing sure in this world. Which is true, but even more so than usual. Every time I depend on myself, everything goes wrong. That's what happens when one is proud.

Sigh.

God is sovereign.

I am a sinner.

That's really all I need to know to fix about half my problems.

I Blame You, Reader, For This

Oh, Art (History)
I hate you so
When you talk about it
I want to kill myself
Or possibly the "artistes"
And even Meekelangelo

We used to learn techniques
Now we take notes about
Their birthdates
Your talks are boring
And make me want
To rip up your notes
Violently

And it's art, not art history
It doesn't matter what
You want it to be
Look at the last ten years
They were art
Then there was a mix-up
And we,
lucky we,
Got you

Congratulations
To us