《Rusty Dream》From a Pit I Return and Let No More Be Said

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The idea that all fiction should have conflict, is that not naïve? The vast majority of interactions, after all, are not fundamentally conflictual. On the other hand, slice of life can easily become the doldrums. Yes, the space between conflict and inanity must be empty.

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A day without drawing trespassed two days ago. Yet, belaboring and dissecting this failure seems tiresome. "Some things are better digested as sentiments." That sort of sentiment comes to mind. The page here is not even a matter of saying in response to the failure, "there is nothing more to say. Time to pick up the pencil." No, some other strange thing is sought. Let the failure rest without saying so, for "that which is light..." Reflection should be neither a burden nor empty, just like thought itself.

Truism and any which way phrasing appears to be the name of this game. Dredging things up each day may be dangerous in this way, but the alternative...

Even among turtles there are the fast and the slow. A biologist, a person who know turtles or somebody with half a clue; these things I am not. It feels as though the race has began all over again. I become one with the clumsiness of the hands, eyes and mind.

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