Goby’s Journal, Sacred and Profane

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The impossibility of reconciling ecstatic experiences with doing dishes, taking a shit.

Is the recreational use of drugs, a profanation of the sacred?

Not a week goes by that I don’t dream of building and firing kilns.

Fires of transformation.

There is no locality of space in my dreams. A room becomes a flight of stairs becomes a field becomes a storm at sea.

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