“Within the past week, someone has managed to flip my mind’s secret switch (which, among other things, I keep hidden in a rosewood box under a pile of Persian rugs, in the back section of my brain-attic that smells like yellowing paper), and I have, accordingly, gone mad.
Inspiration is starting to keep me up at night. I make my bed in the morning. Every hour of the day drips with possibility.
My insides are agitated, they grate and collide in the best possible way - I rush around Paris and the thumps of concrete hit my heart in wild laughter.
All this is to say that I feel great, productive, dare I say - invincible - which is something I can’t quite explain, although it comes to me in dreamy threads I can’t help but put into words.
In brief: somewhere out there in this infinite playground, the force of the universe has decided to pick that short, scrappy one for the team - and it feels nice.”
