Sometimes, I write, and I pretend that it’s not me. It’s easy. I just put the words down, and stop worrying if “I” is “me”. It goes back and forth. If I believed in spirits I might say one is talking through me. I feel other. I read my words and cannot imagine writing them. Somebody else was there, in my fingers, singing in my mind. I stop worrying about being true to facts – just true to expression. True to emotion. Sometimes to emotion that feels alien, or that I didn’t know I had. There are things deep inside that try to crawl out, or push through the earth of the soul into the sunlight. The murky underwater of my being. That maybe doesn’t entirely belong to me.
- Pandemic Snippets 3 [en] (2020)
- From Essay to Fiction [en] (2011)
- They found the boy's body [en] (2009)
- Writing: Desired Distraction [en] (2009)
- Climb to the Stars [en] (2005)
- Music and Sadness [en] (2016)
- Letting Go [en] (2020)
- Here We Go Again [en] (2008)
- Lift12: Tom Armitage. Games: Systemic Media for a Digital Age [en] (2012)
- Chris de Burgh Concert in Lausanne [en] (2004)
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