I find something disconcerting about the old adage ““idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”” Most of my writing comes from idle time, idle hands. There is no way writing is the product of some sinister force. Idleness produced the great works of man and, to be honest, some of those are pretty good achievements.

What would Baudelaire, Bukowski or Cassady do if their hands were shackled to some ideal, some compelling force to keep active? The driving force of humanity is idleness. Idle hands are the tools of the human workshop. The means with which we survive are the chisel and clay, the pen and paper the keyboard and the blog.

I really do need to get a job soon, otherwise I’ll end up arguing with folk wisdom phrases all day.