Annihilated

At some point this space disappeared--consumed in the ether of digitation manifesting intransigently through electricity and thin wafer-discs of harddrive. I don't know when. I can't remember checking the space since my last post.

Since then I have continued reading. My writing slows and lurches and winds itself about itself; I am almost onto chapter 37 of 50. If I can continue with the same progress I will finish the first draft "this summer," which I vaguely recall as the outer-edge of my self-imposed deadline.

There is too much to detail. Fragments spread, small pieces on Facebook, Xanga, INTJForum and elsewhere, but I have lapsed in recording my thoughts reliably in any one place or form.

And really I have very little motivation to do so right now, right here; this is merely because I noticed Dragonfort must have died, though I was happily able to resuscitate this blog.

The title reflects my deeper mood: these woods are destroying me, much as predicted. I'll let you call it self-fulfilling prophecy--it won't change anything. I continue to feel lost in paralyzing moments of isolation, in the grip of a worldless terror that inspires new ideas but paid for in life-force. I hate it here and no one will save me but me.