I started a really beautiful piece of work on the 19th May, and worked on it until tonight.
In the spirit of destructiveness, like all artists, I discarded it, made it go away. I could almost not bear to see something so amazing, so representative of what I wanted to say and honour; something so deliciously creative, wicked, and warm, that made me feel very happy. Then the guilt came, that I was not supposed to be here, I was not supposed to find my way, I was not supposed to get out of this happy/alive.
Damn that edge. Damn that field we live in. Damn those discontent artists. Damn those stories of tortured souls. Those powerful myths really can quash hope.
Let’s make new myths. Build new stories. Experiential ones. Speak, whisper, hold. Cherish, hope, keep our promises. Nourish new dreams. Tend them well, with care, and the utmost seriousness. Become a story-teller of now. Create a life free of ghosts, doubt and fear,
I dare you…