Here are things that assist in transforming voices, memories, dreams, flashes of story—like smoke, there in its fullest intensity for only seconds—from air, into words.
Songs for a Book
If nothing else, scrub to 6:54 and lend your ear to Metamorphosis 2. Your soul will fly to someplace else. Composed originally in 1988 and inspired by The Metamorphosis, it feels like a hundred years or more earlier.
So many things from Germany and connections thereabout are weaving their way to me and I am putting it all together as best I can. They say 'We are here, write us down, remember us, do not delay.' I know that ideas swim on seeking receptive hands, agreeing to rest only when they are acknowledged and acted upon. These are most personal to me and I don't want to be abandoned. I am tending to them, honoring them, and giving them the voice they are asking for.
It is all I can do.
I need solitude for my writing; not like a hermit—that wouldn't be enough—but like a dead man.
Franz Kafka
I am living quite disjointed, my mind moves in places where my body does not. I have not so fully given in to an inner world, I am sailing in unnavigated waters yet I feel like I have been in them before, and that requires an articulating all of its own.
I am always here:
