To woo me, you must be proficient in the reading of tea leaves, the conjunctions of heavenly bodies, faces, ley-lines, the movements of a cat's tail, incoming weather systems (including cloud formations), creole, words in languages you do not understand, the diseases of fruit trees, the shapes bees chart through the air, the boiling sea, and the feeling of a place.

you can write anywhere sweetheart. in your prison-cell, toilet paper doubled six times against the bottom of your bunk; in a train, while a drunk Slovenian is sleeping drunk upon your shoulder; on heroin, in that grey peace somewhere beyond sleep; in a bar; in a bath; in a bar's bathroom; in a world where noone will ever read your work; or in an apartment with a cat and a girlfriend. the world itself is constructed from distractions. concentration is defined against this inevitable baseline. that's why its a holy act.