A computer desk. Behind the keyboard that I'm typing on is an electronic music keyboard; I improvise on it between sentences. In front of the keyboard are spread various things - pens, pencils, pliers, my watch, and a mishmash of chainmail contraptions that I built to see what was possible in the medium. Gripping the edge of the desk are two pieces of pipe insulation for padding. I've constructed it so that there is virtually no annoyance or inconvenience involved in working here.
To the left is a pile of papers. Here, for instance, is a copy of an essay I wrote three years ago about why it's not only impossible to define the term "human being", but also unethical to do so. There's also a stack of half a year's written correspondence with a friend of mine (we've since drifted apart, but it was beneficial for both of us.) Oh, and here's some notes from when I was coming up with a general algorithm to determine whether there was any straight-line path between two squares on a grid with an arbitrary distribution of walls.
Copies of my poetry. A draft of a short play. An info-sheet about the procedure for my hometown's Town Meeting. A two-page note from my many-years-former self speculating about how to teach creativity, and how to break through mental inhibitions.
To the right? A library card; a 4-inch-tall structure of toothpicks and tape that won an 8th grade contest (I'm a bit nostalgic about that one); the script for my mixed poetry/singing/piano performance at this year's coffeehouse for Literary Magazine...
It is my space, filled with reflections of who I am. I will reinvent it wherever I go.