The days are so vast now. I’m lucky to have such vast days. What I’ve been thinking: how nice it is not to do any philosophy. Or, better, to try, badly, to do philosophy. Or to write badly about other people who do philosophy. Today I listened to Palace Brother’s Days in the Wake and wrote a long post to let the album percolate in my mind. I need to forget everything I’ve written and remember it in a different way. I need to dream about that album and about Will Oldham. Only in that way is writing about him possible. He will have to be reborn inside me. It is what he would want. It is what he asks for even as he asks and is no longer Will Oldham.
I reread parts of Handke’s Repetition as readied a little essay on it, which may be out soon. So the afternoon disappeared; and now, in the evening, I’ve searched for all the Will Oldham interviews I could find on the web, hoping that something will emerge from my unconscious over the next couple of days. It is necessary to forget and then remember. This summer I mean to forget all of philosophy.
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