|
W
|
ell, I’ve got to say that things aren’t really working out. My
living arrangements have abruptly become extremely unstable again, and it’s
hard to focus. What was supposed to be a single entry on a familiar fake quotation
has expanded into a six-part series with no end in sight, and no guarantee than
any of it will be posted. (I had set Washington’s birthday as the outside limit
for getting it out, and that has now passed.) I’m feeling depressed and
discouraged and trapped.
Not that any of this matters—I learned long ago that my
internal emotional landscape has virtually nothing to do with the external
world. My roommate just asked me what I was doing, and I answered that I’m
writing an entry. Why? he says. I reply by reading what I’m writing to him. This
is how desperate I am for material. Or attention, my roommate says. Anything is
possible, I suppose.
Words continue to fail me, but I keep putting them out. It’s a
narrow line, between the hideous monsters on the one side and the clashing
rocks on the other. Output versus putting out. That can’t be right. Quality vs.
quantity. Yahweh vs. the serpent. Yin vs. yang.
More will probably follow. Or maybe not. If there are no more
words, consider this my farewell.
No comments:
Post a Comment