currently everything i write, when i do write, is unsatisfactory to me. this is because (perhaps) something happened … something pulled the rug from under my feet. now having the rug pulled from under your feet can be very useful sometimes. there you are on your arse looking at the twinkling stars going, what the actual fuck? it invites you to reconsider your relation to the ten to the power of five hundred universes and the eleven dimensions — and this is usually a good thing.
i am invincible, i tell people i work with. i got that from my mother. but i say it for a different reason. i say it so the people i work with don’t have to be afraid of hurting me, or disappointing me, or letting me down. because it doesn’t matter, i don’t matter. what matters is the work, our relation to the ten to the power of five hundred universes and the eleven dimensions. we must work on changing that relation and make it real, authentic, true — use whatever word you like — and then we must continuously juggle that relation, keeping it fluid and yet intact. that is the work.
and so i write that.
and it is good.
if you read this, not that i expect you to, or that it matters if you don’t, this is for you. x