...crap, appetite is back with a bloody vengence and it's not even that time of the month. What's wrong with me?

Listening to: Krwlng -Linkin Park ...and trying to be as productive as yesterday in regards to the Novel-In-Progress. In any case, Zachariah or Zacheria or Zechariah (haven't decided how to spell it yet) is becoming a very 3-dimensional character, 'I'm a real boy!'-style.

Will fast tomorrow.
Meanwhile...

Art as flirtation with surrender: or wanting new silk harp strings.

C. Barks & J. Moyne:

Art gives a teasing taste of surrender without the full experience. Beautiful poetry can keep one on the verge of oceanic annihilation in God. Rumi says, we've been walking in the surf, holding our robes up, when we should be diving naked under... and deeper under.

Rumi:

The old poet (...) threw the harp on the ground and broke it. "These songs, breath by breath, have kept me minding the musical modes of Iraq and the rhythms or Persia. The minor Zirafgand, the liquid freshness of the twenty-four melodies, these have distracted me while caravan after caravan was leaving. My poems have kept me in myself, which was the greatest gift to me, that now I surrender back."