A time long ago, someone dear to me said

A time long ago, someone dear to me said go. And now I weep. Blah blah blah. "This writer has nothing to say at all! As a matter of fact, yes, I'm sure he is mad! Absolutely insane

one thing I can tell you is...my friends, my truly true friends...are crayons. With my crayons and a blank sheet of paper I can create new realities to distance me from my issues.

I was surprised when I was invited to display my crayon drawings at Tate Modern Art Gallery in London. My vivid use of colour in particular the blue crayon had generated excitement

, so the Tate Modern invited me to crayon in the blank squares on their Mondrians. I did this without going over the lines and was hailed as a great talent. I filled the Turbine Ha

with pieces of glass, painted to resemble me and the monsters in the foyer.

I picked up the pieces of my shattered still life, staring at my mostly inanimate self. Not even the monsters over my shoulder could excite me. If I rearranged myself into a Cubist

configuration I could hide out as wine and cheese in the mountain town of Orthagon for a while, but somehow this eventually attracted even worse monsters, mincers with sharp

blades, corkscrews that twisted menacingly, and a massive cheeseboard that laid in wait for me. As I tried to quietly slide past one of the malicious-looking mincers,

my heel slipped on the crumbling ledge and into the rusty, snarling abbatoir below. My shriek was inhuman, and pain wrenched my clandestine escape via desperation. My leg was gone.