What I want most of the time now, in this city and because of it, is to hear little and feel inner quiet. To connect with a single idea for more than a minute in the privacy of my consciousness. To hear about how others are doing this.

Ideas blurted out upon inception do me a sort of violence, but they’re much easier to hear from kids. Kid ideas can’t go wrong just like dream ideas can’t go wrong, because their incoherence is what makes them effective. Remember coherence is based on collective establishment of idea frameworks, which, when entrenched can lead to as many bad things as good.

This afternoon I got to read in my quiet apartment (in February closed windows keep the sound of nearby trains down). I heard a leaf fall from my Joseph’s Coat plant.


Years ago I built a habit of writing 500 words a day. I thought that since I had to become a good writer to write a dissertation, 500 words a day would be a way to exercise the writing muscle. Keeping in the spirit of freewriting, words could be about anything and didn’t even have to make sense. I was writing for myself, moving typing fingers or pen across the page on a regular basis as a practice.

It didn’t happen every day and I’ve since given that habit up, but my writing improved. Over a few months I bled preciousness out. Writing hundreds of words no longer seemed frightening (writing strong sentences and structuring pieces is still a struggle).

A savvy friend (I can’t remember exactly who) correctly anticipated most of my entries would be about the entries themselves.