I’m wondering now about how all to reconcile the ways things don’t seem to make sense. I’m wondering now about a number of things. What to do. Working on the Writual. Nothing seems to make sense. But it is beautiful. I can hardly stand beside myself, witnessing how beautiful everything is. Terrified of how beautiful it is. In love with it, secretly. Have you heard before the expression… never mind. I don’t know. But there is surely—something more, to all of this. I am so close to the heart of the issue, I can feel it. But my eyes are averted halfway so it’s only peripheral. I must focus a little more on the what of whatever’s going on. I must continue to write, and feel it. Only then can I come closer to understanding. The babble and drain seem to be something a little cathartic. I enjoy The Golden Damned, but I think I will focus a little more in the coming ones on the narratives I propose. Let them form more organically and stick a little more consistently. Next will be The Golden Damned XVI. Anyway. There seems to be an impression of an impression of a thing in my mind. I don’t know quite what it is yet, but I am beating with my chisel at the marble so to speak. A little. I guess. Who knows. What do you think it takes to really create a good work of art? Do you think you know? I wonder.
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