I reinvent God. I reinvent love. I reinvent pain. I need to know what is behind the veil. I reinvent my face. I need to taste better than Coca-Cola, be happier than people on TV, more addictive than pornography, thinner than gorgeous people. The city swallows me. It grinds me into original essence and excretes me. The Artist is the Monk of Commodity. My address is the Cross of Self-Reinvention.