Given A Choice Between Their Worldview And

In The Bare Room Under The Old Library On The Hill In The Town At The Tip Of The Small Peninsula On The Cold Island So Far From Everything Else, I Lived Among Strangers And Birds.

The Magic Of The Street Is The Mingling Of The Errand And The Epiphany.

Beauty Is Often Spoken Of As Though It Only Stirs Lust Or Admiration, But The Most Beautiful People Are So In A Way That Makes Them Look Like Destiny Or Fate Or Meaning, The Heroes Of A Remarkable Story.

It Is The Job Of Artists To Open Doors And Invite In Prophesies, The Unknown, The Unfamiliar; It’s Where Their Work Comes From, Although Its Arrival Signals The Beginning Of The Long Disciplined Process Of Making It Their Own. Scientists Too, As J. Robert Oppenheimer Once Remarked, ‘live Always At The ‘edge Of Mystery’­—the Boundary Of The Unknown.’ But They Transform The Unknown Into The Known, Haul It In Like Fishermen; Artists Get You Out Into That Dark Sea.

Musing Takes Place In A Kind Of Meadowlands Of The Imagination, A Part Of The Imagination That Has Not Yet Been Plowed, Developed, Or Put To Any Immediately Practical Use…time Spent There Is Not Work Time, Yet Without That Time The Mind Becomes Sterile, Dull, Domesticated. The Fight For Free Space — For Wilderness And Public Space — Must Be Accompanied By A Fight For Free Time To Spend Wandering In That Space.