Possibilities . . . Many

Everyday on my way to yoga I bike up 24th Street. Once I'm sure it is safe, I take a left on Colfax and continue down this residential street to "the parking lot where all things are possible." Here is a large empty space. A vacant parking lot seemingly deserted by mankind. Uneven cement and gravel left to bake and crack in the sun. From time to time, people decide to occupy the space. They play frisbee or rest against the vacuous red brick building at the lot's edge, but always with hesitance. You get the impression that something went terribly wrong long ago: environmental disrepair causing hazardous materials to leech up from the soil or a mass grave paved over and forgotten; to be rediscovered during archeological digs in the year 3029.

In "the parking lot where all things are possible" I get the same feeling I get in graveyards. Like I shouldn't be there by mandate of some higher moral authority despite my every inkling to celebrate the desolate and peaceful open space amid encroaching urbanity. And so, in the giant empty parking lot I bike in circles. I imagine what was, is and will be infinite positional, proprietary and developmental possibilities and how I play a role by simply two-wheeling through and thinking about it. My friend Morgan and I hope to sponsor a panda party there, but not sure how.

It could happen. After all, Cinderella is a crook. And I'm thinking about starting a comic because of this guy. More to come:

C.L.: Before there were cities, every human could see millions of stars every night, and no one had any idea what they were. The best guess people had was that different gods were spinning celestial spheres on a crazy axis. What do you think you would have thought stars were, if you lived so long ago that there was no science?

John Campbell: Most people didn’t think about that, they had to get a good night’s rest so they could kill something in the morning. Maybe some nice hunters let a guy with asthma stay behind in the cave and draw on the walls and think about stars, but you’d have to be a pretty lucky asthmatic guy for that to happen. What I am saying is sometimes someone with no marketable skills is allowed to draw silly pictures instead of having a real job. In this way, comics have worked the same throughout time.