I've been journaling, in a real hard bound journal. A lot. my fingers are stained with ink. Its refreshing writing that much by hand. I don't think I have that much since highschool. Now as it is me, its full of nonsense, non narrative prose, full of doodles flourishes with pen and ink, and not a little blood from paper cuts.
I really like blank pages to write in, even if it is just paged and paged of words. Lined paper always makes me sad. When ever I go to a book store, I check out their journals, and look for blank ones. so far in my life I have filled 5. right now it is a bright blue book hand made in nepal. the paper is bumpy and a delightful shade of sandy buff with swirls of white matter. I like it. i think it makes me think of things differently, than say if it was just a composition notebook.
Also I can write in perfectly straight lines with ink and quil on a pillow on my bed and not spill a drop.
I need to write some more plans and thoughts. Get ideas out of swirling in my head to somewhere else.
back to the book? or back to bedlam?