In which I return to the thoughts about vulnerability telling the most interesting stories.
In which I celebrate the madness of both knowing a thing, and needing to deny it, as I fly through the delirious heights of creative mania.
In which I express a lot of things, but the words are almost unimportant.
In which I admit my normal practice to read 4-5 books simultaneously (thus taking probably 4-5 times as long to finish a book, objectively…) and that I may be making some words of my own..
In which I talk a little about the experience of live performance.