"Our lives are at once

...ordinary and mythical. This is how writers must think, this is how we must sit down with pen in hand."

Thus here i meet myself again at this well of me, hypersensitive to this life of me, to the living of me, the daily runnings of in and out, the overflowing, how scary to confront this me all alone, literally, in the dark...how self-centered i am!! we all are! only that the artist knows enough to tell on herself, or else to pretend with one eye shut that it's not true but only claim as much for the funny peep-hole belief, the lie we tell ourselves! that beneath the guise it's for the good of all things, ahhh and so arrogantly call it our Work. and me with the dastardly fights and excuses near the end, aaah pity for, pity of self-obsessed infinitely transmuting me. blessed self-obsession verses self-relief. o world, i dub thee Gold and Bought and Boundless, precious excess of unexamined extreme