Of course, at first, it seems beyond foolish to believe that a person can transcend anxiety at all. Yet at some point in my own struggle with the idea, I perceived that foolishness was the only way out. That whatever method I might find that could get me to that place of belief would be something I would have to adopt without questioning, or else suffer forever. So my method had to become literary in and of itself. I must allegorize, I thought. I must make the anxiety and my attempts to defeat it into a part of the work itself. I asked questions of Anxiety; I demanded answers from Anxiety—and slowly, over years, I began to find some. Even if Bloom or Freud, in all their philosophical pessimism, might have called these illusions, or evasions, or sublimations.
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As someone who isn't skilled at writing and used to be much worse,
makes a hot loop somewhere run 1.25 times slower –