Business is like a limb that’s been amputated, but I still feel it there, erect and at attention, counting its money like some junkie who can’t make a move without ensuring that there’s another carrot lined up and waiting to mark the path and give meaning to life. I’ll never be an artist if I can’t get the monkey of business off my back so that I can concentrate on some creative work, get my eyes off the prize and concentrate on the task at hand. The bottom line rules like the line of her bottom used to, the thin red line of fulfillment, an innate idea of something warm associated with form. Business is a reflex action, a nervous tick, a cheap whore luring with vacuous charms.