I write from what was just offshore, a few feet below the waters of Lake Bonnevillethe remnant of the Western Interior Seaway, on a clastic wedge that eroded eastward as the crust thickened and thrust-faults, following subduction, threw up summits in the continental West which led to what would be the Rocky Mountain spur that rose above the Bonneville waters and still shadows the site, mornings, where I now reside.
Morris moves with loving attention and unflinching critical detail between the signature language of other artistsvariously acoustic, filmic, documentary, poeticand her own distinct idiom.
Once in a while I think of things too bad to talk about. Bad words, often terrible words, come into my mind and I cannot get rid of them. I am bothered by acid stomach several times a week. I am likely not to speak to people until they speak to me. Often I cross the street in order not to meet someone else.