In my first full week of unemployment since, I don’t know, maybe 2010, I applied for roughly 7,000 jobs and realized I should start titling these little dailies. That’s about it. If any of you out there want my résumé, you can’t havé it. Unless, of course, you’d like to cut it up into a pile of clippings to be used in a collage ironically entitled “Life.”

Speaking of life, I had an idea yesterday. About collages. I subscribe to a few literary/art-ish magazines that invariably go to waste whether I actually read through them or not, kinda like résumés. So, I thought, I’ll put them to use and start pruning pieces of text to use as material for small-scale collages I can then blow up by means of the latest imaging technologies of our time to create wall-sized silent cacophonies of the voices in and around us. They could be hung in halls or exhibition spaces, allowing visitors to walk through a forest of language and feel the utter profundity and banality of all this beautiful, terrible talking, while I sit silently, pensively in the corner, brooding behind my Trotsky glasses and bérét and scribbling stick figure allegories and love notes.

My guess, however, is one of those roughly 7,000 applications will turn into a job that will either prevent me from undertaking this project or render its execution absolutely imperative to my continued existence as a sentient, hopeful, passionate creature. Only life will tell.