No, for me it’s the opposite. I have to find ways to stop the thought process because the thought process is constant; it’s constantly everywhere. And that’s not to make me sound pretentious, because it sometimes makes me unhappy. It can keep you awake or you have it in the middle of a meeting.

I love reading diaries of artists and writers because it’s really hard to explain the creative life to the average person. People always ask me, “What do you do all day?” Your daily life can feel a little bit indulgent. When I read diaries and letters, I’m always struck by how banal it all is. It’s not about creating most of the time. It’s just about living. I find great comfort in those texts.

Here is one of the methods I use that has been really helpful, which is I very rarely get blocked when I’m doing something I really love. So, I do think that when you encounter a block, questions you can ask are, “Is this project really where my heart is?” “Is this the most urgent practice, project, book, piece right now?”.

Absolutely. I also have some ideas that are more philosophical—or maybe even spiritual—that have to do with my faith in language as material. I’m interested in allowing as much of my unconscious to come through. I think my own consciousness is not so interesting and I don’t generally write to express myself. I write to find deep truths for myself and for other people and to make poems that feel like they’re connected with a deep, essential aspect of human experience. Even if the poems themselves are very specific or particular, somehow they’re connected to those forces. That’s what I’m looking for in poetry. I need to get out of myself, in a way. I believe in language and I want to subject myself to it. That’s why I like working with found text or just putting myself out into the world where other people are talking, listening to what they’re saying, walking by signs and looking at newspapers and things. Picking up on the glimpses of truth in language, then trying to work that into the poems.