scene-at-desk

This is my work station, where I transfer my handwritten notes to my computer, via an intermediary print-out, which I look over for a few days,  and subject to crazy emendations, and then, as a third draft revise right on the screen itself, and, after judging I have done all I can, send them onto the blog, I mean into the bloodstream. To suffer all the looks and revisions of an unwearying. bloodthirsty public, incalculable in size, clamoring and desperate in its intentions–which ultimately are focused on destroying me. I mean absorbing me, and all my discoveries. I know this is my fate, and I work steadily to achieve the utmost satisfaction for all those who feast off my words, and drain my strength. Or do I mean to say: All those who seek spirituality?  I don’t know, and don’t judge, because I am uniquely predisposed, qualified, crippled . . . can’t finish that sentence.

This is my work station, where I transfer night and day my thoughts to the page, etc.

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