Tuesday, June 25

jill/txt: archives of april 2002
On the tram last night I saw it, after hours in the office reading. So simple, so powerful: it will explain everything I'm trying to write about. I scribbled down notes with a borrowed pen and shone the whole way home. I fell asleep thinking about the details, my whole body glowing with the beauty of it. I've been writing all morning, in between kids chirping merrily and peering over my shoulder and my partner getting grumpier and grumpier at my asocial behaviour. But what about X? Am I confusing this with that? And how can I think about Y? It's going to take a lot of work to explain it so people can understand both the simplicity and the depth of it. Anxiety: it can't be that good. Thinking it's good is hubris, it'll be hacked apart as punishment, they'll laugh at it. No. They won't, and even if they did: It is good.
I can't tell you about it yet. It might fall apart. Later. If it bears the weight of thought.

This is what it's like. When you have time to read and write.


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