Renee is worried about me. She thinks I am sick.
When she looks at my work space it is a mess. An explosive mess. There are papers and notes and doodles and sketches everywhere.
Maybe I am sick. I feel like my head is so full it is going to explode. I have so many ideas, so many things I want to explore, to test, to think about, to write about, to blow up! So, I make notes. I draw small pictures. I try to get thoughts somewhere I can find them again. I'm a mess.
For my health, periodically, I am going to start sharing my notes from The Blast Factory. Maybe you will see something you think I should explore and blast more fully. Maybe you can help me find the answers. Let me know.
How does discomfiting seduction work?
What is the relationship between self interest and the social good?
Can the decision to be less selfish be anything less than selfish?
Does drywall burn?
Can I blow up the dark chasm of meaninglessness?
I'll throw these notes away now. It will make room for more.