24/09/21 Seeing (and reading) the timeless folk tale Coraline has made me consider in some depth the author of Coraline, Mr. Neil Gaiman--but not him on his own; but rather with the other Neil Gaimans of recent in the literary developments of Christendom. I am speaking of the Oscar Wildes and the Andy Warhols of our times--namely, those wild and wonderful artists who seem to have danced the line dividing heterodoxy and holiness throughout their entire lives, perhaps up to their respective deaths. Odd, odd men. Neoliberals, homosexuals, minimalists, abstractionists... Artists on whom could be written two cent rags and tabloids. A quick Wikipedia search reveals more than one would desire to know. Yet I feel that each pulsates with a form of orthodoxy that perhaps once their souls were conformed to, and which, inadvertently or not, they cannot help but express. Souls who are so attached to their crooked ways, though loo...
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