So it asks for creativity
When you've failed, and no one knows what lies ahead of you — it has never existed before.
A failure clears the ground. What was supposed to happen, didn't — and now the road in front of you is a road no one has walked, including you. That blankness frightens most people. I've learned to read it as permission.
Because a path that has never existed cannot be copied, repeated, or delegated. It can only be imagined. The unknown isn't the absence of a plan; it's the precondition for one that's yours.
And here is the turn I keep relearning: to make the most of it, think — don't rush to do what's already yours to do. The obvious task, the thing your hands already know, is the enemy of the thing only your mind can find. Story-doing comes second. The story comes first.
From the series — I Was Born For Death is written one page at a time.
Some entries are essays. Some are three lines. Some are a single image.
Read in order or out of it — each page is one ending, and the threshold on its other side.
New for the olds, life for death.
Comments