I have spent most of my life completely unaware of myself. I just did things one after another without stopping for a moment to question my own motivations without regard for my own safety and future well being. There were times, events, that changed me, altered my future, my perceptions of the world, that changed the way I believed how life was supposed to work, and until embarrassingly recently these things went unexamined. I have lived my life without any idea why I was doing anything. The characters in Antiartists do this; they do things without any understanding of themselves, and even though the book is not about me at all, I realized that I do identify with a lot of the impulses that they feel, a lot of the same disconnection and isolation that they feel, a lot of the understanding that as much as we want to believe that we are masters of our own fates, we are who we are largely because we were made this way by events and relationships and by sick random chance. One of my re
Here in the Black and White