I found a small shoebox beneath the bed, yesterday. It's clearly been there for some time, having been entombed by suitcases and other detritus.

Within it, rammed between our expired passports and a pair of cufflinks I felt -feel- absurdly guilty for having never worn, was a small clear acrylic box containing half dozen loose Micro SD cards.

One had plainly been crushed, somehow without the acrylic box being harmed. Another I had apparently reformatted and named 'tourmaline_start_en00'.

I have absolutely no idea what that means.

But what I find elsewhere is a quaint, inward, disorganized style, for all the little winters I've spent with it. After a breakup... here rides camera, get a shot of that dead tree. I feel better. I love everyone again because I have captured the temporality of a log.

Among the other surviors I find a shot of the spire of the Holy Trinity Church (on E 88^th & 1^st), a view from the window in my old apartment (who lives there now?), and last, remembered in a mundane Madeleine moment: a photo of a very fat man asleep, shirtless, starfished, on a towel in the middle of the Great Lawn, clasping a small bong in his right hand and his phone in the other.

I find it oddly and absolutely cathartic to sit in front of a computer for 2 or 3 days and making something entirely new. It doesn't necessarily matter if the result is mediocre or unexpected. There are countless little visual techniques which are simple for me to consolidate and modify, but difficult for digital artists to grok ^[4]. My best guess is, beginning with standard dithering and pixel sorting implementations, I can strike out into experimental image processing methods.