Thursday, January 21, 2016

50 ways

This song goes through my mind as I find different ways to deconstruct volumes of journals. Ripping and tearing, hole punching, slide punching . . . burning. Yes, there must be fifty ways to leave your lover.

Before I move on to the hardbound sketchbooks (which will be easier and more fun, in my opinion), I'm slogging through all the spiral-bound editions ~ even the lovely Papaya Art notebooks. Those are making lovely circle images and interesting cuts on the slide punch. I'm rather eager to use them in the visual journals.

And that's another funny thing I'm noticing about myself: I'm still writing nearly everyday. A little counter productive, isn't it? A little ridiculous. One might feel the goal of destroying writings would be to STOP WRITING shit. Writing is an action. It needs pen and paper. It needs those things for that tactile, hand-mind coordination ~ more than typing or speaking. (Though, if one wants to avoid that Foot In Mouth thing, then there'd better be a few things in place.) Writing, hand writing in particular, is magic. It expresses like a Rothko painting, but with some agreed-upon symbology. What's written can be read again ~ unless burned, of course. Or erased. Or redacted in some other way.

In short, I like to write. It is my lover. And though I may find fifty ways to leave it, I won't. I will, however, leave no trace.

All hail Fiskars!