#348

Man, the last few days have hit me rough. What can basically be understood as post-emesis depression has sunk into my bones. A book has performed its egress from conceptual space in the dimension of my mind to enfleshed existence. I was so, so up when I was finishing that book, and I squeezed the brightest light I got into its pages. Gave it every particle I possess, all my warmth and power, draining the reservoir completely, apparently. Now I feel like cigarette ash in a wet tray.

Oh well! What the fuck you gonna do. I will try to get better, try to find traction, try to maneuver that traction into the next book. Gotta do that till I run out of traction entirely. 

Maybe it's time for Album Week 2023. But I gotta do something different for Album Week 2023. Only then will it be able to cheer me up, rather than make everything worse somehow. Had a lot of ideas about Album Week this year, lots of ideas about music. Could be ok. Could be all right. Only way to find out is to forge ahead, to weave a path, to give shape to the vessel.

Next time we'll know for sure, dear reader, whether it is Album Week 2023 or something else entirely. Oh, your breath! It's bated. Damn, baby, take it easy. I know how cool and incredible it is when I shit whatever crap lives in my head about music, making no valid sense and offending all good taste. But if it's something else? What madcap irrepressibility will seize me in its jaws and carry us all off into the nether regions of perception and commentary? What cloaks out of the past or signals from the future will drape our frames or dazzle our eyes as we journey into the thickets of description and hypothesis?

Who gives a fuck who gives a fuck who gives a fuck

--JL