Transformus, Asheville NC
If you're wondering what's going on with me, I'm still confused about my motivations and objectives. I don't know where I'm going and am still trying to figure out where I'm coming from. It's ok. I'm working on another book, so in a few years I should have constructed a narrative.
The feeling of displacement, out-of-place-ness, is perpetual. Some part of me rears its head up and asks, blinkingly, when did we get here? Will I ever be able to reconcile the past with the present? I've talked about it the whole time I've been writing here, but the phenomenon persists no matter what I say. Consciousness of time is a beautiful, searching thing.
My dad (hi Dad!) says I need a project besides self-analysis. This may be true, but if I let my focus slide for even a moment my data set will be incomplete.