Though it's been the case for the whole of my creative life, I'm still stunned by how much of my process is simply tolerating the chaos of that process – assembling scenes and sequences here and there from fragments and shards and combining them, throwing them up in the air, etc etc – and not kowtowing to the overwhelming desire to organize too soon: a heathen's exercise in faith.
i did not spontaneously combust and other misadventures in sacerdotal flamethrowing
Candle lit / in memory of / all saints and sinners whatever and ever amen: all without setting anything including myself on fire by wielding a candle. Victory – though I'm still paying for the pretzel I was able to eat at lunch because the rambling, loquacious minister couldn't edit anything (having never learned anything in the decade he's been at this dying church which begs the obvious question of his hand in its torturous demise) and made a sermon that should have lasted 15 minutes tops last more than an hour and a half. Highlight: his video camera died before he was done and he had no clue. Regardless, good deed for the month complete. Exorcism addendum, complete(?)
ENOLA HOLMES 2 is excellent: think I liked it even more than the first one. Reminds me of the Brendan Fraser MUMMY with something important to say. Marvelous weekend entertainment.
Other thing: my favorite character in all of ZELDA: BREATH OF THE WILD is the turnip(?) with the maracas. One of life's great desires to have been in the room when that bit of (fucked up) brilliance was created.
newsletter sunday 0090
Early post this morning as I have to spend the second chunk of my morning being a good human and lighting a candle for someone I spent a quarter century and 96 pages exorcising but hey, Macro0090 is in the wild and I've slept an extra hour so I guess I'm prepared to partake in the ceremonial bloviations which hold no solace or comfort for me whatsoever and absorb and deflect the Im so sorrys and such a wonderful and blah blah blahs and the close proximities and hugs and my late fucking lunch which will REALLY make things bearable because truly, it's the living (and their attendant rituals) that make death un–.
