Tonight I was writing at an artsy diner in Ft. Greene, where there was an installation of somebody's Moleskine pages opened and put under glass. There were several dozen of them. Reading them was like reading someone's diary, only, their art-diary or dream-diary. Loved it.
The last thing in my Moleskine is a diagram of Pacific currents. What's yours?
love it. let's see: my last journal was an entry about being good at loving someone. a random russia notebook says "pee-sta-bohl: cunty liar OR! lying cunt" then has a bunch of my signatures (practice). other russia notebook: "like misha said, there is a basic independence indispensable to the actor-- to grow, to protect oneself against bad directors, to remain artistically autonomous. follow intuition, the signs--the basic signs-- not the voice of the gps" then "not knowing is more beautiful than knowing"
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