tonight it will be a hardcover book.

Jorge Luis Borges & a woman with a camera.

I don't know where the writing inside of me went. It's not that I ever felt I was writing stunning prose, but there was a key and a worth to expressing myself, publicly. I felt that, at least. Now I need to face some kind of reincarnation of letters like when I lost the talent for writing horrible poetry. What this time in my life calls for, I'm not sure. It may be dreadfully serious. I wish I could build a wall to show you all the things–of terror, beauty, stress, people, blessing, travel, love, all things Monty Python–that have made up this last year. I'd build the wall and we'd all take Silly Walk strolls up and down the way. Build your wall next to mine. I'll study it until I go blind. Everything will always be spring.

Jorge Luis Borges, the great Argentinian writer, went blind at the end of his life. All the books he wrote never said anything to him ever again. (Though he continued to write.)

Christopher was fascinated by armageddon literature. Which made me start thinking, what would I do? I imagine I reach a point where the world is ending and no matter what I do it will end. When you know that, fear is over. I leave the shelter and walk over the ground shaking and splitting, watch the sky melting, and I hope I have a camera with me. The end of the world should be documented. I just want to have a record of it all.