Oh I Do Want That Thing, That

There Is A Side Of Friendship That Develops Better And Stronger By Correspondence Than Contact.... The Absence Of The Flesh In Writing Perhaps Brings Souls Nearer.

I Made Myself Into An Envelope Into Which I Could Thrust My Work Deep, Lick The Flap, Seal It From Everybody.

The Biggest Part Of Painting Perhaps Is Faith, And Waiting Receptively, Content To Go Any Way, Not Planning Or Forcing. The Fear, Though, Is Laziness. It Is So Easy To Drift And Finally Be Tossed Up On The Beach, Derelict.

The House Begins To Be A Home. The Unfamiliar Places Are Beginning To Fold The Familiar Objects Into Their Keeping And To Cozy Them Down. Objects That Swore At Each Other When The Movers Heaved Them Into The New Rooms Have Subsided Into Corners And Sit To Lick Their Feet And Wash Their Faces Like Cats Accepting A New Home.

If The Air Is Jam-full Of Sounds Which We Tune In With, Why Should It Not Also Be Full Of Feels And Smells And Things Seen Through The Spirit, Drawing Particles From Us To Them And Them To Us Like Magnets?