1. Fretting again. Throwing clothes in my luggage again. Unearthing then refolding, then unearthing them again. Wondering which books to bring. Why I'm bringing them in the first place. What the hell am I doing, leaving again. 2. I'm trying to find my
Lunch under the sunshine, singing in the afternoon, and conversations in the evening. It has been a good day, and too precious to share at the moment. Maybe tomorrow. Oceans Juan Ramón Jiménez Translated by Robert Bly I have a feeling that my boat has
1. Yesterday was— Perhaps it's better not talk to about it. 2. My manuscript is home now, all the way from Edinburgh. I look at your notes, M., and— You should see me here. Clutching the papers to my chest. 3. I've said it before, and I'll
I was talking to S. last night about work—well, the perils of a creative life, really, and how being here, and doing this, puts us in a position where the measure of success is not quite so clear-cut (possibly un-quantifiable).
1. I haven't been sleeping. I keep thinking of the road I am not going to take, and of the light slowly fading, a kind of now-or-never thing, you see, and I can't move and I am swallowed by panic. 2. What do
Watching this new show, NUMB3RS. I think it's true, you know. Great mathematicians have no great facility for language, and great writers have no great facility for numbers. Or maybe, I am just not that well-read. Black Stone Lying On A