0. The Fool

As the deadline approached, I fell entirely prostrate. I rearranged my outline. The sheets got kicked off the bed. I hid in them. I felt sick. I drank too much. Of everything. As dawn approached the editor rang. I was apologetic. I was abject. I was defensive.

I complained that since undertaking the article, I had been harassed and molested by unclean and unsolicited help and contributions from esoteric and undesirable forces, whose continual contributions, far from illuminating the subject, seemed to obscure and distract from any coherence, with the resulting whole being an unintelligible mass of obscure and degenerate superstitions and superfluous mysticism, completely suppressing anything intelligible lucid in these teachings, let alone a gnosis.

I put down the receiver. On the other end I heard a burning that sounded like laughing or a laughter that sounded like burning.



NUMBER 43, WEEK 31; WORD COUNT TO DATE: 36,371
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