{i've decided to avoid using caps for a while. i figure in my line of work, postponing repetitive hand injuries is prudent} flea turned me on to this poem today by anne bradstreet. last night while eating adrienne's lastest art piece [she rather quaintly refers to it as dinner, but i know better.], i started thinking about the creative process. see, one of the things that drew me to adrienne was the way she seems to be in touch with an inner light that i have always associated with creative people. everything she ,and these, people do is infused with this light. it smells better, looks better, and feels better. i stand mostly in awe. but i stand close hoping to find the secret. it occured to me last night and more this morning in my discussion with flea, that magic, inner light, and troubled boiling cauldrons actually have little to do with the process. it's more fleshy/sweaty/real than that. for me its more about dealing with self doubt. it's probably no good, no-one cares, people won't like me. sheesh. what do you think?