When I am gone, please do not let them into my bath. Please do not let them take away my cremes, lotions, jars, and salves. Those are my intimate items, to be used in my own ways; my own menagerie of dreams which inspire me to create myself as you have come to know me. And likewise, do not let them into my studio, to take away the fallen hair I save in ziplock bags, the toenail cuttings I keep in jars, the leaves and bugs I’ve pressed between pages of heavy books; those too, are my intimate items, to be used in my own ways to create my work as you have come to know it. None will be served by the taking away of some articles of my inspiration; no, theirs will be a pulling out of rough stones where my imagination has seen polished gems, and a replacing of my spirit of infinitude with a literal and impoverished version of my “meaning.” When I am gone, please do not let them in.