[Digging] reflects . . . for me, rather than a resignation, an active embrace of the dirt, the mud, the worms, the fungus, the bodies. The best way out is through . . . this kind of thing.
It made sense to me that writers or artists should utilize constraint in our present world of seemingly limitless possibility.
I love gossip in poems, and I love to see friendship performed in pieces of art, so I don’t know how to create things like that without those kinds of references.
With comics, for better or worse, you can’t really hide from who you are. You’re spending so much time working on these things that you can’t keep up a persona for that long.
Communing with the mineral/rock world is also another way for me to contemplate time, and to understand that the destructive/creative geologic processes are always underfoot.
The curse and hex lie alongside the charm and balm. Rhetoric has no team, rhetoric has no flag.
On some level, memories can feel like locked rooms that you might enter at will and find a moment perfect and unchanged. But . . . those perfectly preserved rooms are shifting and changing constantly, as we are.
This practice of pharmacy, fundamentally, writing about that in a fictional way brings it into the realm of science fiction. Or it can, very easily. Yet I feel far more connected to literary fiction.
My sincere hope is that someone will read this and invite me to do some sublimely goofy shit with them.
What happens to the man that demands respect from the goddess Nature? An erupting volcano is the only appropriate response.