At around 4:30 am, Leon (my cat; my brother) jumps on my bed. He likes to get under the covers and sleep. I get up.
He emerges from the bed as soon as he hears a kitchen sound. He wants food. I feed him and while he eats, I boot up my computer to begin another day of indulging in my desires. But as soon as he has finished eating—and this is the pattern of every day—he starts meowing. He wants a walk in the hall and then to chase string and kill it several times. Then he will sleep for hours while I work at my computer.
Leon has a need to do his exercise—chasing and “killing” the string—to relax for the rest of the day and that is exactly how I feel about writing. I cannot get on with my day without writing for a good while every morning. But….
But I don’t want to write things that turn into projects—like a play or a book or text that drives another project as a recent play drove me to spend half a year building costumes. And I do fuck all every day so finding subjects to write about is difficult.
Here's another photo dump. I am collecting quite a few. I am a slave to beauty.
|I love this. This shot is the photo on my desktop.|
|A hero—perhaps my first: Oscar Wilde.|