The later it gets, the less likely i am to recant- to recant anything. Staying up late is very much a dangerous thing. What i write feels good when it's then.
If I published in the evening, people could read the things that same night after supper- people would like them then and i would burn them at breakfast. breakfast is a good time for meeting people: ones you hardly know or would like to know, or even people whom you much more than casual acquaintances- like if you have, say, a relative: then i would recommend breakfast. Breakfast is also a good time for fresh orange juice. And there is no better time for burning things because in the evening you will no longer wish to burn them.
I used to not burn things. there is an obsession which comes and goes like the rain and which, unlike shyness or quicksand, does not make me look down. but like the rain, and shyness, and quicksand: one has to sit it out and hope for the best. I am afraid that i will be forgotten. Memory and forgetting fascinate and terrify me. Memory and I go up and down like churchbells. I sed to not erase. I would cross out words or lines or pages with a thin black to represent the idea that they were erased- but without doing it. it was like adding 'just kidding' afterward. I would cross it out, but it could still be 'remembered.'
some words mean more in their absence. i used to cheat- i would write them down and cross them out after- to point out that they were not there. I could say it again in another way. or I could not.
I used to cut words out- take a pen knife and erase what i wanted. I sometimes ate or burned them. it didn't seem strange. now I put them somewhere else. I will place things where i want them. I will take that picture you drew and tell people it's something different. I will re-contextualize them; nothing is safe. And I will wear a hat and do a talking. If you want the truth i'll give you some. The mill is gone but the wind remains.
say goodbye to kristoff for me.