Which isn’t to say that somewhere within me, in the recesses of my psyche, there isn’t a mechanism that is functioning somewhat like a compass, directing me toward this or that subject, and away from this or that one, but that, because I am writing as an artist would write (if I may describe myself that way, for the purpose of this entry), such a mechanism must work in harmony with, or be brought under the auspices of, that facility with language for which my conscious mind has an affinity.