this is where I work when I sit down and think about the things I have to write to begin the work but the work is always being done, inside anyway……so in some ways this is a way-station.
the portal between “that place inside me that does not stop” and where it begins a life here, sometimes, when I am lucky, so that it might not repeat inside me like a dream if it was an error. i cannot see them. i cannot which is weakness artistically maybe but true anyway so there is that.
i love/loathe this desk. it always feels like it is playing chess with my word fetish and long-wringing blabs.
maddening stuff being crazy….
I feel the same way about my desk. Currently cleaning it (and my entire room) so I can concentrate on my writing more easily. I always have everything done all inside my head, but it can be such a process getting it out. I don’t mind keeping it in, but I kind of don’t get paid that way.