Write like you’re a goddamn death row inmate and the governor is out of the country and there’s no chance for a pardon. Write like you’re clinging to the edge of a cliff, white knuckles, on your last breath, and you’ve got just one last thing to say, like you’re a bird flying over us and you can see everything, and please, for God’s sake, tell us something that will save us from ourselves.
Writing for spiritual autolysis will not be like writing for an audience. You don’t write for others, only yourself. Writers have to create and invent, you have to operate and amputate and illuminate. Your writing doesn’t need to be pretty or witty, just truthful. In spiritual autolysis, if you are honest and clear, you are good. If you can do that, if you can use words to light up the darkness, untangle the knots, solve the riddles, systematically dismantle obstructions and destroy the destroyers, pretty and witty don’t matter a damn.
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