Twombly’s thought bubble screams with the unsayable, as Rilke called it, “the space that no word has ever entered.” I’m with Twombly, swearing and screaming my ass off the way a toddler or a cat swears – the fury is there, the intention-– if not the words. I haven’t felt comfortable writing in my…

It’s been a shitty three months: fallen idols, blind niches. Houses have altars and shrines, ancestral spirits, local deities, loved ones. Bodies should, too. Here is mine:   Pompeii, November 2013The middle alcove (above) crowns a god’s absence in an arch of blushed brick. If this photograph were taken from above, the pedestals would be…