Listen, I don’t know. I thought this thing had run its course. I thought it was a good idea “in theory.”
Then I look at the archives, the origin:
Blackout fascinations & constant oscillations between love & not-love;
I was blindtrue to you in one night,
object of my favor, subject of the labor of my writing hand;
laced between your fingers like wool through a loom,
[all] of us in unison pondering starstuff…
Interests work on my life in a pattern. I am ambushed daily by intense passion. Which is to say I always have a crush on something, someone.
But forget the physical interpretation. Ponder the stars. Lament or sing praise. How hard is it? — the world is ripe with inspiration. And I want to complete the experiment.
I have lived too long under ego-delusions, identifying deeply with “my loneliness” while contentment seemed a fallible, cursory thing. No longer.
There is life outside of feelings and the narratives one tells oneself. There is life to be chronicled, embraced, understood.
So—
Every Friday a fascination. Even a sentence will do.
That is my challenge to myself.