I'm transparent.

Aren't you?

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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.

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Last night nothing but nightmares about loss and infidelity.

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I need a project (or something),a __________ to which I can surrender.

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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.

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