A long day, adding the illustrations to The Intangible Man book, and converting The Burning Circus for Kindle, both rather time consuming and exacting tasks.
This month marks the 10 year anniversary of the infection that so devastated my life back in 2010, though it was hardly serious, it has remained with me as recurring sore throats, sore chest and sniffles in cycles of three or four weeks, never too harmful, but a constant drain on my energy. Perhaps this is a positive, an adversary to fight. I can never rest and today it is the sore phase; it will be transition soon.
I'm very pleased with The Burning Circus, as a poetry collection and artwork in itself, but poetry books rarely change the world so I'm not inclined to make them for any reason except as an exercise in writing, or a showcase of what I have written; which is still better than hiding such works away. Perhaps these are the raw rock face of art for that reason; more than any other artform, it is one that anyone is capable of doing, so is the most difficult as well as the easiest.
Today feels like a trudge, despite the lovely spring weather, truly the best two days of what seems like months of drear. I feel that I have no friends, only a panoply of enemies and silent monoliths. I feel the need to move on. Smash the ironclad foes beside me, wrestle free from the crowd, and run free, alone to new pastures while my legs are able.
