My Wobbly Bicycle, 149
Reading Jeanette Winterson’s Art Objects shifted something in me. I’ve been sitting here a long time beside Jerry’s hospital bed. Generally, hospital-sitting makes me numb, or, rather, attentive basically only to what needs to be done at the moment. One thing after the other. People come in, people leave. Things have been like this a long time, or rather, time after time. Which is why you haven’t seen posts much lately. There’s a particular energy that has been missing, or, rather, used as fuel toward bare existence. This is all fine, but there comes a time—and this is what...
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