the writer draws to himself all manner of metaphysical flotsam and jetsam, the wayward spirits and homeless ideas that, drifting by, are caught in his gravitational pull and become satellites in orbit, left untouched on the periphery of consciousness to be studied for days or months or years until some spark of creativity flares and he snatches them down to dismantle, rework, trash some parts and steal others, melt and weld and polish until from this captured debris a new creation is sent forth once again into the oceanic universe

6 thoughts on “#1145

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s