111812 #human #crow #bunny Ah, that's okay. Let's recall the visceral. Hey, I'm a damned artist, right? I can do that--*it's all right if it feels good,* right sis? Let's recall how illuminating and expansive and how the words just slipped out like a young man's firm turd: I'm a writer. I'm an artist; I'm a writer. I have to do it or else get sick. It was the twin of the other verbal tower from a few weeks before: I've always known I'm gay. Bam. There it was. It just came out, uncoerced, unconsidered, just as real as a june bug falling out of the couch cushion.