I wrote a poem a while ago from the perspective of a crow, didn’t I? Perhaps it was a raven. I can’t remember these things and think, once again, that I need a personal assistant to manage things I can’t be bothered about. Like remembering what I’ve done in the past. A living repository of all completed acts to date.

In any case, I have no tattoos. I keep thinking I shouldn’t bother with anything you might consider a commercial brand or image because tattoos are the easiest and most visible things to regret when they’re terrible, as most of them are with unfailing certainty. Almost all of them.

But a crow tattoo inspired by a poem I sort of remember writing last year or the year before that, which in turn reflects a fascination with these curious members of the Corvid family that started when I found a neatly decapitated raven at Centinela Park as a kid, well, that would be something I could possibly not decide is terrible later in life. An icon such as this silhouette so as to not worry about things like color and lighting, of which I am not particularly interested in my imagery. Starkness and contrast. Defining.

‘As the crow flies’ is one of my favorite idioms for a number of reasons. Directness, little time wasted, over passes and fields, across mountains and valleys, driven on and free to navigate in all manner of directions, whether higher or lower, and all the cardinals. A representation of A to Z with a view of everything in between. It could really work.

Where’s that fucking poem?