Web-weaving: Stolen journals and a slap—on writing, memory, and art-making from tremendous energy

Tonight I’m literally sleeping with my notebooks.

From a recent journal: It’s “funny,” I’m so inspired, yet I don’t know what to do with it (today). Inspired or positively aggressive? (What’s the difference?) Inspired or restless and optimistic? (What’s the difference?) Inspired or addicted? (Addicted to what?) The: process, (what about it?) the challenge, (why?) the sensation, (what is it?) “flow,” (which is?) dopamine (is that it?) yes, and …

“In a book about the working of the mind, I once read that the important factor in discerning the human face was not the combination of features, but the oval shape. Life itself, while it continues, can be that same oval, or after death, the thread of life running through the tale of what has been.”¹

“Break open a notebook at any point and be reminded of your own reality, because a notebook is a series of proofs that life has continuity and history, and (this is most important) that any point in your own past is still within your reach.”²

From one of my (old) journals, pulled off the shelf at random:

4/25: Tonight I am going to write again. One sentence at a time.