Here I write to respond to image, song or story; to clarify, foremost to myself, aesthetic experience; to arrange ideas in some form of coherent opinion, or even fiction, that they may persist in memory, and might even be worthy of a reader.

The pen’s tip took its name from the bird’s beak, honed by Nature to a sharp point. It is my aim to be precise and concise as that avian implement that tackles large things in small nibbles. 

Though I often write within the space of the margin, like medieval monks that ever patiently glossed the sacred texts, I desire, like the mystics, for that rare transport beyond the aesthetic to the ecstatic.

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