Three Studies for Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion by Francis Bacon, ultimate composer of grotesquerie in the historically transcendent. For instance, a Pope of nerves. Bacon is also a kind of philosopher king of monstrous expressions, which I’ve lately glimpsed in my own face, early in the morning, when I am not composed or composing myself for effect, to transmit impressions of the airtight human of the future. Instead, my teeth are little irregular stones. In the shadows made by my cheeks, at least a mile of darkness. It’s gross. I guess in these moments you feel capable of a supernatural disentanglement from the agreed-upon human map, and that your current physical arrangement is mere sums of muscular coincidence.