as i write this, the travelling jounral sits next to me on the banks of the gihon river. when mark handed this over to me in baltimore, i had no idea that i would find myself here again, suffering in my studio and losing hair to my fingers for each sentence i couldn’t write. but the book has this calming effect on me – i look at it every once and again and think of the legacy of inspiration it contains. now that it’s in my possession it gives me some confidence that i can find something deep inside me to push me forward.
so, here we go. some imagined stories of imagined people locked up in an imagined asylum. in iambic pentameter. god, i love fiction.