Writer's Diary

6/5/26

I’m lucky in that I have a strong sense of purpose and inner dignity that keeps the ship of my life afloat if I’m having a bad day or a bad week; I do feel flooded with inner strength sometimes.

And I think I know that I’ll always be an artist of one sort, above or below anything else, because my senses are flung wide open—I feel I’m here on Earth to synthesize all this data streaming in.

Today a man stopped me on the street and read the lines in my forehead and my palm and said I will live a long life and that I’m a good man, said too many people are taking advantage of the gifts of my tongue or the fruit of my tongue or something like that. And he wrote three numbers on a piece of paper and said put it in the palm of your hand and don’t look. And he asked me to name a color, to say my age, and the number of people in my family. 37, 3, green. And he told me to look in my hand, and there it was written down: 37 green 3.