This is a computer-picture of me right now as I type this. I'm frustrated again, these days, not having any work violent enough, messy enough to match the violent, messy feelings I'd like to express.
I feel full of ideas but void of plans, full of desires but empty of action. Inaction is not the same as stillness. Inaction is fussy, restless, impatient. Stillness is borne by intention, a solid state.
I dreamed lots of messy things again last night -- death and packing up and deadlines and impatient contempt for everything.
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