A collaboration with no money involved will always be a headache. A financially-stressed collaboration should never feel stressed in the first place. And to think, they give all of the direction and pound notes to the uninitiated “artist” – inevitably the same one who unknowingly kills the whole ‘deal’ in the first place. I.e. no artist at all – just the person with no business in being at the business end of things at all. Without the art business is fucked, and without business, guess what… business is fucked. “You do the math,” they shall whisper and pleadingly say. And my surefire, spontaneously combusting reply begins with? Simple as sausages go but “I can’t, for I am a mere artist”. And on we go – merry-go-round – only not so fucking merry, believing ourselves to be on separate sides when, really, we are on the exact same team, albeit a team of obviously over-driven egos. Some tamed, most uproarious and a danger unto themselves let alone to others. Truly, and this is not meant to sound harsh, but as an artist, the better you are, then the far more sure it is that you are your only true collaborator, whatever the other side of the coin might wish to say for themselves. Let them speak, but take it with a pinch, please. I didn’t take up writing to philosophise lyrically, I took it up for the sake of creating brand new stories and with the high hopes that, ultimately, these aforementioned financial things would not stand in my own way. And they don’t, sometimes. The truth is this right here – I have honestly created everything that I came to create. The rest merely, albeit wonderfully, all about the enjoyment of bringing my style of process to the fore once more, even if that means another addition of four-thousand perfectly acceptable little poem=pieces. Because that is all that they are ever going to be by the ending, however high-ended and perhaps often but not all of the time spectacular in one fashion or another.