E.L. Doctorow once said, “Writing is like driving a car at night: you never see further than your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.” Reading A Language for the Inward Landscape was a similar self-actualizing experience. Like a coastal sailor navigating through a fog, the reader discovers more about their journey as they take it. The fog lifts, the sailor sees a familiar landmark. By taking a compass bearing on this landmark, the sailor has a better idea of their location: the bearing defines a line and the boat is somewhere on this line. There is a feeling of safety with this bit of clarity. The fog may return, but the sailor proceeds, a bit more confident in their journey.
On Garbage (November 2017)
