Construction has begun of my travel journal for Lisbon. I have a general idea of where I'm heading with this. A book of scraps. Papers and envelopes I've been meaning to use, but haven't. Let's see what else I can round up.
Bits of fabric. Red thread to stitch it all together. No duct tape.
Paper sewed onto paper. Stacked up to make one fat signature. The covers? I don't know yet. I'm leaning towards a red folder I found in the trash last year in Italy while walking down our hill in Praiano for dinner. It was dark. The moon was full. My sister waited for me while I rummaged. I carried my treasure to dinner, then back home, then across the Atlantic, back here to California.
I feel like the woodcarver who brought Pinnochio to life. Only a red folder is hardly a puppet. But still, if I give it a new life maybe it will start to talk! Oh someone please push my off button. In these first days of silence after months of non-stop chatter my mind hasn't hushed yet. I'm inventing new languages in my sleep and talking to giant animals. Last night 3 giant chickens climbed in the window and laid 3 enormous eggs in my bed!