Invocation.

by Ezekiel Fry

I’ve been away for too long. One thing spiraled out into many things and the result has been that I have not created, have not placed myself out there for many days. It has become quite clear to me that the further I travel away from the source (whatever that might actually look like) the less fulfilling my world becomes. Great news on the academic front allowed me to step away, to forget what is truly important about what I do. It is not fanfare and validation that gives my work merit. It is the simple fact that I have to engage in this type of inquest or I become something that I do not wish to become. My will becomes weak, my life becomes hazy, and it is all I can do to keep myself from crawling under the bed for hours on end. Personally, I have spent enough time lurking beneath the bed, or hiding in broom closets, or wasting away in the root-cellar, to enjoy that type of shit at all. It just doesn’t have the appeal that it once did—if it ever did. As the weather turns back towards something resembling a season it is not conducive to productive work and thought to climb into the sunlit prison of apathy that the days can give to me. Perhaps I am becoming too sentimental in this writing, but what does that truly matter? The point is that I am on the upswing. The work that once (and not too long ago) kept me afloat through trying times must return in this moment. I don’t even really care if anyone sees it. That is not all it is about. Never was. At the very least I can expel some of the monsters from the attic and send the whole lot of them into the depths of the cellar where I sure as fuck do not want to go. Time to return—rebirth is not real, but in the end that flimsy of a metaphor will have to do the trick. Let’s roll. Out of the sunshine, into the shadows, and right back where it all begins. Right here. On the brink.