During the 41 day sabbath, I had found the writer full of strange intoxicants in his veins, something he had not done in years past. For a moment, he acknowledges my presence, then turns to watch the drunk girl on a parade float that looks like a cake. By now, he would’ve left that desert bar, making his return journey towards true east.
During the 41 days, there had been another astral nuclear event, a recurring psychological theme, often associated with creative destruction. There were volcanoes raised out of sea then shore, four in number, molten and alive.
Fire is the great restorer, whatever ground it ruins, it will make fertile again.
10 days to the return, to a #patreon launch, to another cycle of creation on all fronts.