I’m reading Katherine May’s Wintering, and I’ve found myself thinking about its lessons a lot today. This morning I wrote a recap to sum up my September. It started out rational and coherent and ended full of tears and rage, both the month and the writing session.
I’ve found an old, deep wound, the oldest and the deepest, and I don’t know what to do with it. I think that solving this riddle might set me free, or at least set me on the path to freedom.
There are periods of history when the visions of madmen and dope fiends are a better guide to reality than the common-sense interpretation of data available to the so-called normal mind. This is one such period, if you haven’t noticed already. –Robert Anton Wilson
As a rule we disbelieve all the facts and theories for which we have no use. –William James
I’m apparently writing. I ate some food late, and while I was cooking, I was pacing. I was thinking, I was writing. I seem to burning a little brightly right now; that may explain the frustration. I guess. I’m not sure about that, but maybe the burning somehow
It was a long bad day. I was going to write today. It had such promise at the start. Ideas were just bubbling through, and for some reason the wind has shifted. I write all the time, but it’s for me, for my journal. I have to fight to
