A tea kettle whistling – someone else is up at 5:53 am too. A neighbor.
I’ve had a writer’s block and an artist’s block at the same time – I don’t remember the last time that happened.
Suffering gets boring.
I don’t regret recording it.
Paralysis, though – that’s an empty space – but something happens in it.
In the space of doing nothing.
A mystery to us. It doesn’t seem worth examining.
Consciousness needed to shift.
I prefer the hand just a little bit childlike sometimes.
Like what’s always come most naturally – a style mostly resisted.
What was wrong with that?
Why resist anything? Why resist anything?
It’s not always worth it to be so adult. What is beyond adult?
The struggle is too adult.
But artists aren’t childish, like they insinuate.
Art is ageless. Period.