Friday, March 23

It's good to have the tools in hand. Hammers, text editors, knives, internal-combustion engines. Necessary things. But a fetishism of tools seems like as much a trap as anything.

I found myself complaining the other night that I haven't got a real office of my very own with a proper desk in it so that I can get things done. This way lies madness. What do I need that I haven't got or cannot fashion from the materials at hand?

To hell with this entire chain of thought. It ends in believing that some brand new Apple product makes me a better artist, or a similar descent into raving triviality.