Today this blog is dispensible; only of use for its archive. Profundities can’t be searched for, only found.
However, working in this unmockable space yesterday afternoon,
I did manage to get another article submitted to a good journal. Another 14,400 words are now in the tank of peer review.
Ai Weiwei likens the completion of a writing or architectural project to committing murder. “I move on to the next kill,” he says in his Fa-ke Studios in Beijing.
The tide [大潮] came in huge last night in the Puget Sound; boats scraped along the bottom at midnight, but after great turbulence, by 6 a.m. were buoyed up practically to heaven.
Now I turn towards an orange glowing room in which swords clash with a muted, hazy Qin Shihuangdi; the final encounter brings a certain sharpness.
Certain musicians listen not to their own recordings.