i have been bereft. bereft of ideas. i hope it’s an in-between phase. in between phases. but the in betweenness sometimes seems like all i know.

rarely is something what it seems than what it is.

but a friend, who I only met once, over a year ago at a funeral, just wrote me an encouraging note. she said if i could make a piece about listening to the radio while driving through a parking garage,  than i could make a piece about anything… which made me feel much calmer. anything is possible. unimaginable at the moment, but possible.

i just have to keep writing. even if it’s crap. it’s not my place to judge what is crap and what isn’t. just to keep writing is what’s most important. write until i don’t recognize the writer or the language or the context. write until the writing assumes a life of its own. because, as i think i’ve said recently, all i am is the transcriptionist. i just have to take that job more seriously.

i would be perfectly content to be the transcriptionist.  i have a romantic vision of data entry. i think that’s exactly what people do these days. we enter data only to exit it at some point. but there’s always new data to enter. but you can’t enter the new data until you exit the old.