TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile
I stagger between coherence and disintegration all the time. The personal and the political tangle with ferocity in these perilous times. I understand why people gravitate toward religion, in search for that narrative in which their lives make sense. There are days when I cry, disconsolate. The words can't come, and I sense time as a jumble of weird sensations and fleeting impressions. There's a sense of disaster, badness on its way. Finally there's a shift, usually after a night out with friends, conspiring over drinks in a dark corner of a wee bar, and setting the world alright. At last I gather the images that have wandered into my notes, conversations, and dreams. They become spun by the vortex of my soul, or spirit, and I discover what it is that the religious seek, the subjugated creature of my deepest yearnings.