TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile
After the last ten days without my paper journal (deliberately), I have decided that I will never be without one. I had been using Scrivener on my laptop, but, while it's good for working on a dissertation, I found that I could not finish any of the intimate work I had started. Nor could I find what I wanted to write about, those subjects that first appear as glimmers of memory or possibility encapsulated by a chance phrase that strikes you in the morning, phrases I forgot in the daily process of the day-self, the self that needs to eat and preserve itself, raising barricades against the influx of the spontaneous and uncontrollable. Anyways, I got three small notebooks in Sligo for the rest of my time here, decorated with birds on the cover and ready to capture the dreaming-self, so ephemeral and elusive in contrast to the stolidity of the day-self.