Absolute darkness surrounds me. What is the way, the way out of this, and where does it lead to?
One thing I realize is that I am not a true artist: in the sense that I don’t look for incompleteness, the ephemeral, the evanescent.
What do I look for then, if not beauty and the ever present brokenness of life? Peace.
My leanings, then, are more spiritual than artistic. I am not, and never will be a writer.