Next to me: A dirty dinner plate. A mug of now cold tea. Unburned sticks of moxa, a candle to light them, a jar of dirty water to douse them. So many ragged pieces of paper, covered in words. A box of tissues. A stringed instrument from far away--carved images of zebu and lemurs. Stray hard drives, cables. A lit lamp. A dusty capo and tuner. (Dust and dog hair, always.) Take stock, type the words; maybe, for a moment, transform the whole.