The surface lends itself to chaos. It was made for this abuse, this obstruction, this abrasion. It presented itself as a possibility, as an open palette for receiving energy. It received my energy. My energy comes out in waves of frustration and anger. I feel angry at what the world refuses to offer. Its pathetic how little is actually of any worth in this world. What are we working for in actuality? How can I ever surpass the negativity and is that the only thing that keeps me creating? Is it because I am dissatisfied with the world that I create additions to it, avenues of vision not yet explored? Possibilities of subtle moments, begged to be realized? What am I really making? I don’t feel at home in this city; this anger, this bitterness, this emptiness, this fast-paced, dirty, poverty-stricken, homeless city. How can I keep going when I know I want to just be by the water and in the grass and under the trees and nowhere near the desert that is the city of angels.