Rightinbetween

A book is a face but a scroll is the mind. When did the former give way to the latter in the evolution of printing? I'd like to know.

Meanwhile, these conversations go on in my head - the replay of interactions that I've had, or I've yet to have, or I'll never ever have. I inscribe that real or imagined moment, the words I said or I want to say - like I need to carve, inscape them (as Gerard Manley Hopkins might have said) on my innards. All these conversations, over and over, spiralling around, gouged in with heart-pen, gut-pen, groin-pen all over the lining of my insides. There's more at play, more purpose here, than I know. When I die and they open me up, they will find all this calligraphy, all this heiroglyphic circling my womb.