elusiveness of “a creative life”
May 23, 2026
Tracing a rhizome’s strings can be tedious. But for the record…
I’m reminded today how hidden—unwittingly—my large-scale project of 2019 remains, because I followed some links I hadn’t followed for years. Usually,
I don’t go back to writing done, because I’m aiming to move on to doing something new.
My page for “the Project currently” (which will be properly named someday, relative to later work) has a link at its top to the earlier version, “2019—2022,” whose title is “play of Work,” which links, via ‘Work’, to a long discussion titled “the Work of art.”
The “Work of art” header has a link to “a creative life” (tens of pages), which is one page of this “literairy living” blog (like this page), not a posting listed
in the blog’s monthly sidebar.
Only a 2019 blog posting, “genealogy of ‘a creative life’,” links to the project.
Each main section of “a creative life” (numbered 1-9) is a Web page with
a “home” button which does not link back to “a creative life,” rather linking
to some section of a Web site project, none of which list the section of
“a creative life” which links to that Web page.
So, “a creative life” links out of itself, but “home” Web page sections don’t link to the linking page of “a creative life.”
The only way that anyone discovers “a creative life” is the one link, “…Work” in the title of the 2019-2022 Project—or that 2019 “literairy living” post.
Other Web pages (not part of “a creative life” and not the other Web project seections to which a page of “a creative life” links as “home”) happen to link to Web pages of “a creative life,” which link to “a creative life”’s project page at the top of that page. So, other Web pages may find “a creative life” by accident, but only if curiosity happens to cause clicking the link at the top of that page.
Something allegorical about this is (1) some of my 3000+ pages on the Web are unlikely to be found except by accident; and (2) “a creative life” had an implicit obsession (albeit healthy: creative) about the work of Jennifer Gosetti-Ferenci which I was implicitly wanting to escape, 2019, because my irrev-
erence about love of her pathway became unwelcomed by her—which became a funny storyline: By 2022, she came to believe I was stalking her, so I haven’t contacted her since.
I leave my fun to others’ times.
I weave my wilderness for the winds.
