Self-Portrait of a Studio

One way to work abroad is with the dishes undone for days and laundry in different stages around the flat with bent cans, ashes, coffee grounds, fresh music, missed calls, old cum, pillows on the floor, paper, crumpled paper, technology, pens, sweat, sunglasses, crushed insects, dead skin, dictionaries, disposable razors, sketches taped to the walls, scratched tables, floss, bills, foreign currency, bills, soap stains, piss, shampoo, shades drawn, ten diaries, torn jeans, learn how to stretch at intervals, wear a hat, ripen fruit, unscrew the lightbulbs when the buzz bothers you and things are too bright, then wonder why you live with neither spouse nor a lover and what family, community really mean to others as you claw out one sentence from the jet-planed foundation of the place.