biograph's (i love my dog)
… as good enough. But there’s always the tendency to get ahead of one’s self.
Of course, after the creative purge, I crash, to some extent, or come into a place of triumphant fear. Firstly because my mind thinks way too much about meaning and symbols and gambles and what is God this telling me now.
And I engage in some sort of Guilt ritual in which I proceed to debunk all I’ve done by conjuring all sorts of paranoid thoughts about the work I’ve just created. As a result I fall flat on my back, assume the position, and call nobody.