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But lemme tell ye, it’s a mess out there! Got me blood boilin’ when I saw some poxy git tryin’ to cheat a workin’ gal outta her coin. “This is my design,” I mutters, like Lenny’d say—me own code, see? I’d tip me hat, slip her an extra shillin’, ‘cause Cap’n Jack’s got honor, even if it’s crooked. Ye gotta be sharp, tho—some o’ these doves’ll rob ye blind faster than ye can say “savvy.” Once, I woke up—rum gone, pockets empty, lass nowhere. “Where’s it gone?” I slurred, soundin’ like Lenny losin’ his blasted notes again.

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At the British Library last night to see Brian Eno and Bette A talk about their new book What Art Does.

I love wandering through the neighborhoods; each tells a story, a vibe unique to PEno. A bit chaotic, a bit serene. I keep runnin' into hidden little art galleries, tiny libraries tucked away in corners. Always reminds me, "You must let go of the illusion of control", and hey, that's deep, man.

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