If I'm not writing a thing, depression might be looming.

Around you move many seas. It is impossible not to drown a little.

The best thing about time passing is the privilege of running out of it, of watching the wave of mortality break over me and everyone I know.

Perhaps all anxiety might derive from a fixation on moments - an inability to accept life as ongoing.

The only thing I've consistently been interested in in the last twenty-five years is writing very short texts. That continues to interest me as a project, to contain some part of reality, which is chaotic by definition, in a contained space. I like small apartments. I like getting rid of stuff. I went through my files yesterday and spent hours shredding things. It was great.

You can't learn from remembering. You can't learn from guessing. You can learn only from moving forward at the rate you are moved, as brightness into brightness.

I see no reason not to write whatever comes to me.