Writer's Diary
7/5/25
I feel like I’m in an uncertain moral relationship to myself: I have to experiment to understand what’s good and bad, and these experiments are simultaneously low stakes and high stakes—not in a legal sense of breaking the law, but in a granular spiritual sense in which choosing the right words, focusing, and caring (making the right turns along the road, not getting lost).
What fascinates me is the relationship between choice and fate; the seductive belief says choices don’t make fate; but the bracing reality is that they do. Today you’re here, tomorrow you’re there; the difference is everything. The whole history of the world is connected to what you eat for dinner, whom you take out for drinks, whom you have children with, whom you never speak to again.
We construct and shape our own lives; our lives construct and shape reality and the reality of life.
I want to construct works that self-destruct after use, like fireworks: I would be happy if my plays were performed once and then erased from the archaeology of knowledge, or if my books dissolved in the reader’s hands after the final page.
I’m keeping open the possibility that a certain mode of writing replaces traditional ethics, because writing marks and transgresses two limits: first, that language mirrors the world, and second, that language is self-consistent.