I asked for an image of Justice weighing a Japanese eggplant against a pile of drugs — a balanced scale, blindfolded with pink triangles, because the rainbow hadn’t yet arrived and I’ve never liked the rainbow anyway. What came back disobeys several laws of physics: the eggplant must be made of lead to balance the powder and pills the way it does. Justice herself looks like she’s holding her breath, waiting for the universe to admit the mistake.

This picture is another way for me to avoid writing anything substantive. Every time I sit down to write, unless I build a cage of structure around it, the writing mutates into an episode. So instead of writing, I make an image that writes itself — a visual monologue pretending to be equilibrium.