Tom Wiggins, Letter Carver & Writer

"All writing is garbage. People who come out of nowhere to try and put into words any part of what goes on in their minds are pigs.  All writers are pigs. Especially writers today." - Antonin Artaud 

And all of a sudden every house on every street folded in on itself handkerchief soft and the curve of the earth found the energy to straighten and all I could see were the upturned hands of churches and trees spires and branches limestone and leaves for miles and miles and miles. 

For Simon  In another life we might have stopped at a point where the road widened jumped out blessed whomever for our crops and the good that it would do  danced a wild goodbye to the drought until our shirts were soaked but instead we waved our fists behind the safety of your wipers   until we found a small but significant role for water to play in this but as we weaved ourselves north we came to see a weakness in it and we began to wonder how it would handle our growing spirit  and what it would do if it felt what we felt when we arrived when the smooth heat of her electric guitar slid down our throats and saw to it that rain was just there to cool our little patch of earth.