december 11 2024

I haven’t been writing because I don’t know what I’m looking for. I have a querent’s heart and the pluck of an arrow but not The Answer, not yet. I just feel like my life has to mean something more than Spotify stats and pulling up to the fest in a look with a sick crew. I don’t care if it sounds pretentious - I have to give back something substantial, something people can hold in the core of their being and take with them into the next life, something that means something. This is my responsibility, the responsibility of the artist. And I wear my duties like badges. I bear my cross with a steely, stylish smile. I asked for this life. I begged, I prayed, I went so far as to come into being. And I’m here now and so I need to figure out how to do what I’m here to do. I’m moved by a sense of fate, a loosely tied feeling of karma and divine decree and the pastpresentfuture and the stars. I’m tired of frivolity. I’m tired of being above ground. I need to dig my hands into the earth and hollow it out all the way to the core. I need to keep asking questions. What the hell are we all doing anymore? What is happening to this life? I’m packing my bags, my books, my flashlight and oxygen. I promise I will tell you what I find along the way.

It’s grey outside and the sun starts going down by 3pm every day now. It is December. It hasn’t snowed yet and I am molting.