In the spirit of my hero Ned Luddite, I smash the loom of progressive media and return to the pillow book form. Not the pillow book you're thinking of (if you're thinking of what I'm thinking of), no, it is simply a much better name for what these days they call a "journal," an icky word if there ever was one.
A Diary: Muddled, intuitive love and lust longings entrusted to a small book with a lock, kept by a young girl.
A Journal: Muddled, intuitive love and lust experiences in a book with no lock, kept by a young woman.
A Pillow Book: The idiosyncratic opinions and reports of an aged woman who half-remembers love and lust.
Ned Ludd, smasher of looms which threatened the cottage-man's daily bread, meet Sei Shonagon, medieval Japan court lady and connoisseur of ephemeral living--who kept a pillow book. Together we'll explore our days wearing linen trousers and sheepskin boots, a silk robe and lacquered sandals. Off we go, Ned and Shonagon, lets hold hands. Don't look back: I think they're gaining on us.
