I’m hurt. I mean, I have spent hours writing, giving up sleep and fellowship, without any exact reason, posting things to my blog because I am not well. I doubt any blogger is well, or any writer, or musician, or anyone who pursues art of any kind. Here you find a testament to my beginning scrawls; I write out of some need, some madness.
I desire horror stories because I can’t handle real horror.
I desire art because I cannot yet see the truth.
What medicine is there for my condition?
I am afraid of something, and I am so afraid that I cannot let myself know what it is. I cannot know yet. So is my bedraggled confession. It’s hardly a post, to be honest. I’ve been holding out against some demons, and I hope the time for light is soon.