a journal is your laboratory. if you were an alchemist, this is the place you would make gold. but first you must gather up all that is made from everything else. scatter it across pages. there are no wrong or right formulas, only formulas. if you need a prompt, find one, hold it, map the reaction. if no words come, sketch what you hope they might look like using lines & pencil & shading. draw inspiration into yourself, & out. it is an ocean. it churns away off over the horizon. listen. if sketches refuse to draw themselves into being, cut up fragments from other places, other pictures, & compose them. be the glue that holds you to the visions you create. let music begin to flow, fill the pages full. if necessary, refuse to be linear : jump back & forth, like a concerto, throughout the journal. when the whole thing begins to fill, react to the volume & fine tune it on the remaining pages. when the whole vessel brims, gleams with what the universe can bring, title that compendium, give it a number, open a new journal, & start all over again.
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They cut off the senses of everyone else just for momentary satisfaction.