An overall thought about all art, including writing:

As a poet and songwriter, I always wonder about the “Form of the Thing” – as I like to put it.  Does the Form of the Thing equal the Thing?  Or, is it so alluring that it overshadows the Thing?

As I see it, true art is when one doesn’t notice the Form of the Thing, but the transcendent nature of the Thing itself.  Yet, if one steps back, one cannot help gasping in amazement at the Form in which the Thing is contained.  Then, one notices the nuances of the Thing, and the shadows around it.  Everything comes with its own shadow.  Is the shadow beautiful, too?  Or, is it the shadow of a monster?

I speak of no particular art at the moment.

One day I’ll write an essay about it.  In the meantime, ponder it.