Friday, August 20, 2004


Yesterday is the first day in—I don’t know, a while—I composed consciously, that is, not jotting down what came during meditation during meditation. To recover one’s mind, one’s artistic self, to significance, is an indescribable feeling. But of course, I’ll pithily try. For you.

It’s like when a hangover or flu recedes and one can walk again, or eat again (or, depending on how bad the hangover was, see again). I remember this is the feeling one gets after a great compositional day, but it is intensely heightened now by my circumstance. Meaning can be a wonderful thing.

It’s really wonderful to be alive.

enjoyed and related to your analogy here. absolutely! i'm thinking about whether meaning is a wonderful thing, and i'm inclined to sway that meaning can be a drag (literally, dragging perception) whereas meaning-making is a wonderful, wanderful, andful thing.
make that last 'thing' 'thinging' chrs, h

yeah, no doubt meaning can be a drag (Not to mention those times it becomes a crushing, vengeful think. Yeow.) you only want to escape from. But in balance of becoming and thinging, it keeps me on the edge, for sure.

nice wrdplay, you.

cheers, Stuart
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