A good way to think and work is walking and riding trains or flying in an airplane. It is good to move in general while your thoughts move. Your thoughts seem to not get stuck so easily while you travel. I work best while being on the road because it is inspiring and it forces me into the flexibility I need to create something that I am not used to think of. While I walk I mainly look on the floor and talk with myself or meet a friend to walk and talk. It is actually better not to talk because your thoughts move faster than you mouth, but by talking and putting the thoughts into a grammatical structure they get clearer. There are very few people only that I can do this with. It is very important for example to have the same speed. I enjoy every step and walk pretty slow. Some people can't stand it to walk like that, for hours pretty slow and talking in a certain rhythm (slowly). The talk has to be interrupted from time to time so you can collect new thoughts or finish thinking a sentence. Quietness is extremely necessary within the rhythm of talking, and it is very important where you end your sentences. For example I don't want to hear "oh it is so disgustingly muddy, I ruin my shoes and my feet get wet" I don't want to hear any story about the condition of the floor I am walking on unless it is a condition that inspires or questions the dialogue as for example: "Should the traces that this muddy floor leaves on our shoes be just as dirty as our dialogue?" Some people just continue talking and taking until you're brain-dead. You don't see anything during such a walk, in fact they walk and talk and you are killed at the end, filled with their stories and completely exhausted. Being a child I used to love to walk ahead and the floor would tell me the most amazing stories. I listened to my foot-steps communicating with the grass, dried fallen leaves, wet dirt and the wind. I loved the way I could draw into the dirt and could even schlep the traces of my thoughts into a clean innocent area. I loved to push the leaves in front of me, listening to their whispering chat. When there was a strong wind I opened my mouth to hear his sound better, which sounded adventurous and a little dangerous. There is a little photograph showing me in my album at the age of five walking with my head down, the hands crossed on my back making large steps with my small feet (I think I still walk like this.) I loved the abstract movie of grass, flowers, snow, sand, trees, leaves passing by and used to walk in front of my parents, so I'd still feel save but be alone. I erased their existence in my head, because they didn't really fit in my world of adventures where I certainly had to fight the distance alone. Plus they were too real and too heavy to fit into my movie, in which I existed as an insect thinking about the earthquake that happens once I (as human being) walk over my (the insect's) apartments. Sometimes I would grab some of the things they were talking about and then stay behind or walk ahead in order to spin further what they were saying. I pictured insects leaving bites as information system to tell each other where the food is better and the flowers richer. The stories never really had an end or a beginning, they were just scenes, clippings, shortcuts from the insect's newspaper written onto leaves and grass. ...partially woven together and often falling apart with everyone of my steps.