1. Two poems i wrote for the ballerina:

tattooed ballerina

hesitant and sleepless

and gone

late October

Klosterlikor and Kafka

a girl leaves in the snow

It began to snow during our last lesson, a Saturday in late October. She gave me the gifts you see here:

So much is a gesture. That is, a sign, something of little or no value in itself; it has value because it suggests or necessitates emotion. Here, the gifts – chosen with care & thought, and quite expensive for a frugal German – suggest some affection, and so i am glad. After the class we exited together, in the snow, walking close together as the wind came against us.

2. Such emotions often seem to coincide with spiritual cataclysms and adjustments and what have you. In this case, i’ve started having unusual dreams, and a token came to me a few days after the snow. The token was a symbol and a strange one at that – a symbol of just war, especially of the underdog against the oppressor (it is an explicitly Luciferan symbol); it is also a Hermetic image. It came in a fairly earthly way, on the bus. A woman left it on her seat and i saw & took it as i was about to exit, a stop after hers.

i also made a bindrune for the ballerina. Making bindrunes is like writing: i turn possibilities over in my mind then start; and unexpected shapes emerge. In this case, the bindrune looks like a dancer. When it’s good, it surprises me.

3. i accidentally started writing a new book. i was pushed to it by reading Alan Garner’s Boneland, and feeling all broody about the ballerina. i merely wanted to write something to reflect my mood and this came out:

Dawn and a howl. This is how a story began. Dawn is earliest. When he thinks back, he comes to the howl.

Prelude, pre-condition, or a stumbling and defiance and spite.

That earliest is always dawn in his mind. Winds lay the earth down in great broad plains, and then rise and become mountains. They are the oldest winds and endure. Where the mountains peak, the sky.

First, rivers. Blue and green and brown, suddenly there in the stone and dust. In this impermanence, life.

The sky is blue from rivers.

And one day he became a raven and flew.

i was surprised to find a second page came the next day, and now i’ve done 3000 words and have a good idea how to write the first volume.

4. i sometimes share dreams with Juniper. i mean that, 400 or so km apart, we sometimes have the same, or very similar, dreams. In this case, she dreamt:

last ight: we met somewhere nd you were sad, all the time talking about [the ballerina], we walked along a river I never saw before, then wanted to eat but my fridge was rather empty, only some remainings left which you mixed together, became a kind of dough and in the end you had little cakes which looked like Muffins, then you looked extremely pleased with one in your hands and said: amazing, I did it my self, I am able to produce something nice like these Muffins…. Then my dream ended

This describes well how i feel when i do good writing. Not blogging or emails or book reviews, but, for example, my dozen or so short stories. In these moments i am surprised, i produce something better than myself, far better. It is an intoxicating feeling. It was habitual in my early 20s – most of all from age 22 to 25: my own thoughts seemed greater than myself; my mind was a fire then. After leaving university, when i was 25, it re-emerged with difficulty in my short stories. i wrote most of these in a few months when i was 27 or so. Then i began working and my mind seemed extinguished. i merely survived for 5 years.

i feel now that the ashes of my mind are at least warm. i don’t delude myself: i know my writings mean nothing to most people and that some of my readers probably hate everything – or at least most – of my work, and would be happy if i died and everything i’ve written was destroyed without recall, and they regard me as subhuman trash from Huddersfield. This is natural. i don’t write for them. i write, if you like, to the greater glory of god and i only ask that i be utterly destroyed, if i have no worth.

5.  This is a song i like. The last lines:

What did I learn, it’s not that easy
When you get burned and go on burning light

i pray that i burn, one way or another – to be utterly destroyed, or to become a fire and light-bearer.

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