I'm eating again.

It's been years since I was like this. Nibbling on pages, scratching down unfamiliar words. Hiding notions away in little pyramids that crumple into each other over time until the result is a concrete of its elements. Hard and solid and homogenous.

Not that I like homogeneity. Just within a single idea. Ideas should be only single thoughts. There is plenty of space still, when you're done with the one, to express the extra clause you would have added, the and or but. It can stand on its own (or it's not much of an idea) so give it its due room.

Then, if you have to, tack it on to another idea, sit them together, let them bleed together. In my case, make a little world of them, a scribble on the pages of the Moleskin you bought (an involuntary shudder of revulsion there, Alex whispering reverently that it was the notebook of Darda and Van Gogh, and me thinking, please-god-don't-let-me-ever-take-myself-that-seriously-I'll-do-anything) and I let it sit. Percolate, ferment. Like mare's milk (koumiss, damn my Anthropology paper) and

I put rocks into the tumbler and what comes out isn't amethyst or crystal or iron or glass, but something that's all of those, mixed and squashed and likely misshapen in its original context, but real. Because only ideas are pure. Everything else has trace elements. Everything else is heterogeneous.

Just thoughts, I guess, because right now I'm working on an Event/Resonance chart that is both fascinating and deathly dull. It really should be a catalog of motifs repeated, but I don't know what my motifs are even going to be yet, so that seemed sort of futile. So I invented Tarot motifs that are working well, one suit per chapter (using the Major Arcana seemed sort of predictable, so I used the minor arcana, and only the suits.)

I'm sort of liking it, though. Just another kind of structure in the book, another stab at coherency (but not homogenity.)