  So I'm reading Keith Haring's diaries, and he talks about the Jean Tingueley sculpture ' Requiem for A Dead Leaf ' and how it's the closest representation of a recurring dream he's had since childhood of unfathomable huge whirring noise, a small child and a daisy. You had that dream too, Keith? It remains one of my earliest memories and nightmares, and the thought that it infects other people horrifies me. I spend a sleepless night, go to the shop to get cigarrettes and the counter man hands me change in the shape of a five pound note which has 'James' handwritten on both sides of it. I love the fact that meaning is contingent. 
