CLOAK/3.4

Cloak, not hope but assumption, a verticality in thought akin to weightlessness.
Removing creative blocks has hitherto been a matter of moving through experience at an accelerated rate, and especially of moving through emotional states—to the extent that they control experience—at such a speed as to actually break through and pass that extent, into something else—
into experience beyond the control of emotional states
into that which is adequately pure being—
a sort of headlong rush upon dimension, conducted in hazard.
Cloak, the distance without the damage.
Among the effects of Cloak, sleeplessness
not anxious insomnia but the absence of a need to sleep
and lovelessness
not lonely pining but the absence of a need to love another person in an exclusive kissing way.
The restless retrospective spirit which prompts the making of phone calls at quiet moments, what means to still its feet.
Cloaked the mind immune to lovesick wasting conceives and executes its work—silenced the wild old irrepressible call for another.
With the Cloak their art isn't crawling with sex drive, that's part of its appeal, I mean the absence is a relief, in a way. You know how you can walk into some galleries and the art is so heavy with the artist's sex wishes
you know it's heavy heavy so heavy with unfulfilled wanting that hand there, ooh sometimes it's very nasty. Especially the women, when they do that waxy buildup on the canvas thing or the fat in the bathtub with hair—I mean brava and all that but ayyiyi. This stuff though is very pure, very clean calming work that people just—
their eyes light up when they see it and their faces get very peaceful.