When I write meta-Informalities it’s clear that I lack the clarity to have something to say; the discipline, however, requires that I must push through and find something, anything, to say — exorcism via keyboard.
I’ve lost count of many times I’ve gone meta. Reboot/recount with this volume.
These pieces are how I bring myself back to the work and back to myself while doing the work. They declutter the brain from the New York Times, the newsletters, and the omnipresent clusterfuck that constitutes the world of 2017. They are my way of signaling to myself that I am alive even if I sometimes feel the opposite before/when/after I write them; they remind me that there is something resembling a brain in here and that it hasn’t turned into an inert morass of overloaded inputs, corporeal and digital.
To the work.
Reading: Faulkner, THE HAMLET (still) / Listening: typing.