we of the craft are all crazy. (lord byron)

here again comes the black dog. not a sweet black dog, like gusgus, but the sad & scary & smothering one that churchill named, the one that makes all light & life seem to seep away... (insert sentiments about need for dark to see bright, yin-yang, universal balance, the deserted lonely chasms leading to lovely, fruitful pastures, etc...) least this time i'm not alone in facing it, symptom of creative temperament, the eros-thanatos impulse, self-centeredness, bad chemicals, some combination, whatever. blablablablabla. i do know now, in the middle yrs of this short life, that like all storms, this'll pass: my job's to weather it, & keep moving forward...

hang in there, & i will, too.