What I carry in my bag...

My notebook of randomness.

Emerging from time to time.

I never know when.

I never know how. Or why.

And all that was written, is now forgotten.

But starting new is what a notebook is all about. Turning the page; leaving the marked and graffitied space you’ve been immersed in, for a new, fresh, BLANK space; completely open for you to then create or destroy, whichever way you’d like to think of it.

MY notebook has pages of destruction as well as pages of creation. There are pages with color, and pages with just black and white. There are pages with pictures, and pages with nothing but words. And out of those words, there are some that make sense and some that make nonsense. Some that make structure and some that tear it down.

Words and pictures and drawings.

Names and places and things.

Lines and dots and negative space.

Randomness.