[b]Jeff VanderMeer
Renaissance artist Gregorio Comanini, has counseled the equivalent of “Live an ordinary, regular life so you can be irregular and brilliant in your creativity".[/b]
Tell us how that worked for you.
Yet, I also began to have the sense, fostered in part by the cross-contamination of research, that around the world enclaves that never knew one another—writers who could not have read each other—still had communicated across decades and across vast distances, had stared up at the same shared unfamiliar constellations in the night sky, heard the same unearthly music: a gorgeous choir of unique yet interlocking imaginations and visions and phantoms. At such times, you wonder as both a writer and an editor if you are creating narrative or merely serving as a conduit for what was already there.
That’s just how the historical relationship between “I” and “we” and “them” works though, right?
Once, it was different. Once, people had homes and parents and went to schools. Cities existed within countries and those countries had leaders. Travel could be for adventure or recreation, not survival. But by the time I was grown up, the wider context was a sick joke. Incredible, how a slip could become a freefall and a freefall could become a hell where we lived on as ghosts in a haunted world.
Not sure what this means but who could doubt it?
You can’t trust how I’ll get somewhere, but you have to trust I know where I’m going. I always know where I’m going.
Come on, how can you even trust yourself here?
My loneliness began to be filled with ghosts. That is the worst thing about loneliness, how easily it becomes filled.
True story: I’ve never been lonely. And how sick is that?