A grey Sunday, toasted southern almond coffee and the memories of yesterday. Echoes of other, brighter ages.
Elsewhere, the world feels on the brink of schism, from the inside and outside. The bitterness bleeds top-down, seethes into the ranks of tired people beneath it, like excess spillage draining into a dark sewer.
These channels are built with broken pipes. I won't attempt to patch the cracks inherent in this exoteric effort. I'm not perfect, and neither are these reflections.
I'm hoping a re-dedication to this, no matter what the time effort involved, will get me back on the Writer's path for 2018. I have focused solely on visual art -- painting, resining, graphic designing -- and marketing the #YearoftheSere for 2017, and it has taken me away from my story projects.
That's not to say that I didn't have a great year with the #YearoftheSere. I have. But I need to return to meeting my creative targets. I need to finish "The Skeleton Men", and know what it's like to publish again. Feel accomplished in a different form.
Get back to basics, the skeleton of who I was as Artemis Sere, the story beneath the flashy and splashy visual expression.
They see the Od, but they don't know the ideas behind the masks of freaky visages.
Speaking of which, I was reminded of a quote from "V for Vendetta" today:
"Ideas are bulletproof."
With the state of the U.S.A. today in the wake of the sniper attack that killed scores of innocent people at a Country concert, we need to remember that standing up and standing against acts against humanity is important. We can't let bullets compromise our core biological connectedness, and the respect we should have for our neighbor, regardless of color or background.
This will be a raw and unplanned commitment to posting *something* each day (or so) to the #xoterica stream of consciousness.
A simple spark in a vast universe.
Where this goes, who knows? In a life of deadlines and timelines and bottom lines, this lack of destination and creative structure is necessary for me.
So much to write, so little time.
Time to stop wasting the sparks I have left.