Why such an oxymoron as a title? After much reflection of my art and life as a whole, there could be no better words to describe my blessed curse. I find that all through my life, in everything that I do, I try to put things in their most efficient place for my benefit. Soon after I become fearful of all the order and the idea of possibly loosing myself in it, I hurl everything to the winds and start over again.
While each poem or story may just seem to be randomly selected for the order of the cannon, it is not the case. The book is divided into two parts, twenty days are twenty pieces full of love, joy, and most of all hope, twenty nights are twenty pieces full of loathing, fear, and predominately despair. Moreover, in accordance with Newton’s third law every piece has an equal and opposite on the other side of the spectrum. For each love poem there is a beautifully sad work morning the loss of that love, with the codex as a whole meeting a point of duel reflection in the middle.
The assemblage is also saturated with references and symbols of theology, hermetic philosophy, and ways to past masters. My words like my art will never be fully understood. I would not have it any other way.