Now that I’m back from the Underworld, where in Hell do I go from here?

How to proceed… How does the story move forward…

Back in the studio, a post-Underworld knowledge of the power (and futility) of art, but how do I move forward, especially when there really is no forward. Where is the motivation? Something that might propel it all forward, a life force. An inner world, that changes the world of people and actions via the media. Like John Steinbeck writing an epic apocalyptic novel about the tumultuous forces of mankind.

Now. Silence. everything has changed, fluid, evolving. everything is possible. everything. It’s’s really quiet. Back in the studio, my own private little world. Quiet. I can hear myself. The world out there keeps going. never stops. It just keeps on going. But here, it’s very quiet, just my voice, my heartbeat. So where do i go from here? i ask. As if there were really somewhere to go. The world in here has stopped. I’ve stopped. Pause mode. It’s time to think. To consider all those places I’ve been in the world out there. And the Underworld down there. Or wherever that world is. Here, everything stops. Freezes. It’s all slowed down to a standstill. I’m not going anywhere so long as I’m here. It’s like a cave. i can only imagine. Drip. I can hear the drip. Drip. Drip. That’s where I am now. I’m deep in this thing. I don’t know where I’m going. Drip. Drip. Drip. the only thing that keeps time in this space. Drip. Drip. Drip.