I kept opening the doors and finding dead ends. That’s how I played it all out in my head. I realize now I never opened any doors, for I had kept them all shut.

A blurry camera does not take good pictures. But, we don’t call cameras blurry; we call pictures blurry.

I was always the one who made the work, but the work was itself.

I wrote a word on the wall. I wrote another word on the wall. In a few moments, I had my sentence. “I am about to open this door,” said the sentence. Paradoxically, I stared at the sentence I had created.

The sentence was not a lie. So long as it was constantly reread, the about-to-ness was renewed, and so I could reread forever that sentence which I had writ.

That sentence was not blurry. It was crisp to the edges and fully legible.

Tags: passions, regret, spur of the moment, time management, writing

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