Since I quashed the publication of EXPOSURES my anxiety levels have ramped up and I feel as if I don't know if I can write anymore.
I feel displaced. I've lost some measure of focus.
Last night nothing but nightmares about loss and infidelity.
I need a project (or something),a __________ to which I can surrender.
In Little Did I Know: Excerpts From Memory, philosopher Stanley Cavell's recently published memoir, there's a sentence I keep returning to:
"Must we become artists in order to express experience so unmistakably that we not become isolated, desolated, by ecstasy or by confusion?"
Beautifully said, that. And unarguably true for me.