"The real secret of magic is that the world is made of words , and if you know the words that the world is made of, you can make of it whatever you wish.”
– Terence McKenna
Excerpts from the journal:
- Sanity is paid for with great madness.
- I'm a rational being who suffers from episodes of romanticism. It is a dichotomy for which I've yet to resolve... It's resolution is perpetually perched on the tip of my brain. Always enthralled. What is life if it is not washed with a rush of ideas, emotions, and observations?
- I am uncomfortable with the deceleration that "I am an artist". I am simply a person who sometimes makes things. And sometimes a person who declares that he is an artist. But yes, I am an artist.
- The feeling I get from some ambient melodies, Aphex Twin - Rhubarb for instance, is that I'm dying peacefully - that this is what I would hear when I die. The memories would flood in a beautiful instant and these memories would be hazy. Of simple things; A flower that caught me when I was three. The haze of that innocent time when the world was huge and everything in it was new. Sensations and the bizarre abstract feelings that are wrapped within them return.
- At the height of happiness one must never forget the thread on which it hangs. For it will one day break, giving way to that chasm that must exist for there to be any reason for us to develop the strength to grasp it.
My spelling is as poor as Einsteins. I'm slightly embarrassed by the fact, but ultimately words are only a delivery system for ideas. I place a far greater importance on syntax and semantics than word spelling. So, no, I will not play scrabble with you, but I will engage you with meaningful and structured conversation if you wish.
Life is too short not to take it serious.
Also, I'm a huge goof off...