This follows a long break in writing, a period marked by some disillusionment.
The quiet inner voice, perhaps that of the dynamic child, seems to be back after a lengthy hiatus. A hiatus marked generally by creative blackout and a recrudescence of that Inner Deadness – endemic to the culture – I’ve been trying to stave off. Unsure as to the cause of the return. Likely – either the child was being suffocated by the superegoic introjects of worthlessness, or, the recent return of stricture and pressure is producing sparks once again.
The still small voice that conveys from the unconscious welter whole, preformed streams of thought, often novel and redolent with that alterity idiosyncratic to the right-hemisphere.