thoughts, ideas and inspiration for creating digital journalism
I don’t have a burning desire to go out and document anything. It just happens when it happens. It’s not a conscious effort, nor is it a struggle. Wouldn’t do it if it was. The idea of the suffering artist has never appealed to me. Being here is suffering enough.
Whereas I, even now, persist in believing that these black marks on white paper bear the greatest significance, that if I keep writing I might be able to catch the rainbow of consciousness in a jar. The only trust fund I have is this story…
On a scrap of paper he wrote: “Is there any place to live besides earth?” He fantasized that in the warm place he knew he really came from, everything that hurt would dissipate into balmy troublelessness. He made a diagram of earth in cross-section and labeled the molten rock, crust, water, mountains, and air. He drew the old-fashioned school building, with its cupola, in a red and orange circle of fire. A trail of lava went winding into the distance. The weather got warmer. He wrote: “I am glad that we are going very soon. It’s been hard up here on this island.