In “No Exit: In the Studio,” Lucia Perillo talks about the writing space within her:
What computer people call the meat world, I wrote always in a place that had a
window. Otherwise there’s not much to say (a door rests on top of two filing cabinets that have been moved from window to window.) Of more interest is the internal studio. What to call it—encephalic? Virtual? Made-from-meat-yet-not? The broodio? The stain?