I don't get out of bed in the mornings unless there is power, which means I sleep until 9 most mornings, and most nights, I stay up as late as my body permits. Not that I seem to be getting much done, but it seems to make a slavish sense to tie the body to an arbitrary schedule. There is logic to it some where, in some shape I can't discern yet.
And that's another--I have been feeling increasingly more dumb, uneducated, incapable of new ideas. It might be just that I am less and less impressed with myself, not yet facing up to the fact that I have already begotten a crust of mediocrity around me.
But, [and this is what I was working up to], it feels a bit different now. I am inching closer to an idea of something that I want to put on paper/screen, working assiduously away from anything else I have done before, although I recognize the impossibility of it. Instead of writing a story, I am going to write a non-story. Instead of plots, there'll be elipses. Instead of characters there will be their absense in a world perfected and populated by them. Three strands, violence of a different kind with each. A short, short. Minimal dialogues. A menagerie in jars. Flutes. River. Alcohol. Stone and sand and shadows, and ennui settling on pretty eyes. It will be bad, but much before that, it will be badass. Hella!
Huri, if you're reading this, in a fw days time little will I send you, and you can send me a little.