He looked at me as though he’d seen a ghost, and said, “I was just right then thinking about how my grandmother used to make sorbet.”) I am still reading six other books, though – some great and some for fun (all my ‘hone your psychic abilities’ books are in fun I have, after all, to fulfill the psychic destiny one of my exes claimed I had when, while hiking along for many silent hours near Háifoss in Iceland, I randomly blurted out, “Sorbet is a vegan dessert!”. It was laborious to read at times, and I could not wait for it to be finished. As I wrote before, I marveled at its massive depth and breadth but cannot say I liked it. Blogging is, in some ways, a kind of existential palate cleanser. (Anguish may be too strong a word, but I like it, so I will leave it.) Once free of these things, the feverish urge to blog floats away. It seems that my most prolific blog writing periods happen when I am thinking too much, overanalyzing and in periods of intense emotional confusion or anguish or something.
Thus I will potentially write blog posts when I need to unload or unwind.
#Deaths of the unliving Offline
I am channeling this energy into an offline project that is moving forward very quickly, and it’s eating every bit of creative marrow I’ve got in my bones. I suppose it’s not like a store or job where you have to formally shut things down or go on sabbatical – I just follow the ‘inspiration’ for pouring out the contents of my sometimes addled mind as it (inspiration, not the mind) comes (or goes). Now I am back to considering a break from it. Having contemplated a blogging hiatus recently, I briefly put the idea of a hiatus on hiatus. Rises from this calligraphy of recollection
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