feeling the river-cut rivulet paths of the many focus eras of my life. from when I wrote songs daily, to poems, to jokes, to fiction, to physics, to code, to commercials… there are so many possible paths for a thought to ping around in, and they all come out at different times. I never know which response will tumble out, or what further transformations will occur once I look away. and I wonder, half-asleep, how the paths intersect, and how much of what feels like wasted effort on dead-end paths has created the impossible calamities of creative eruption, and which electric habit-paths from 20 years ago factor silently into getting from present-day question to unforeseen answer?