Tuesday, March 6, 2018
In a kind of soft, but real exile I am in a lovely room looking out at a frozen Lake Superior. It's late Winter and though it has been warm for days, nothing out there moves. Nothing. It could be a picture but it isn't. Indeed it says "fuck pictures", because it is Lake Superior. You either see it, in its natural, bewildering guise, or you don't.
Holy gods all these miracles putting the world at our fingertips. Skip away on your fancy machines for 20 seconds and you can find thousands of pictures of Lake Superior, film, books. But none of it is real.
Luckily I am at liberty to tell you what Lake Superior told me today:
Magic is the absence of illusion.