Have had internet issues for the last week.  Think I've finally worked through them with the cable company.  It's been frustrating, but such is the fabric of virtual life.

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Jim McCrary's memorializing of his times with William S. Burroughs proceeds apace.  This time he chronicles a visit from a famed gonzo journalist.

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Was listening to Stevie Ray Vaughan.  Just switched over to The Black Keys.

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In Sex, or the Unbearable, Lauren Berlant writes:  "To me, the great pleasure of any collaboration is multiplying idioms and infrastructures for further thought that neither of us could have generated alone."  (111)

Exactly.  The pleasure of  true exchange, truly articulated.

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Writing is a solitary art in many ways.  One is alone with the screen, pad of paper, chalk on the sidewalk, spray paint can aimed at a wall.

One sends one's work into the world and hopes to connect.

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