A diary kept in coffee drips and tea stains, reporting the period between 06.11.06 and 07.02.07.
Everytime I had some caffeine, the book did too. It’s a register of my mood and a catalogue of techniques. It tells a narrative through a series of Rorshach images, begging the question: “Are the thoughts and emotions expressed on the pages even mine, or are you just making it up?”
Maybe I was just obsessively working an addictive substance into a medium.