1771

12Nov2018
I found the actual desire to write this morning.  Sort of stumbled across it, like a cat toy lost under the couch for a long time, coated in dust.  Picked it up, turned it over in my hands, batted it around a little.  And found that I had lost a couple hours.  With actual words.  On the page.  Then I hit a little bit of a wall.  And here I am.  Stumbling.  Struggling.  Going down.  Maybe I’ll do the dishes now.  Maybe go back to bed.  Dunno.  Sure felt good for a while, making actual, real progress on one of the novels.  Almost felt…like….  Stuff.  Or something.

Yeah.  Used up all my words for today.  ‘bye now.

1522

a checklist for writers

01Nov2018
Writers, eh? Whatcha gonna do with ’em?  Bung ’em in a hole, and fill it with dirt.  Stuff their mouths with dirty socks to be safe.  ‘Cause writers, well, they ain’t always talkers, but sometimes they are, and you can’t take any chances. 
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1332

PSA

20Sep2018
Search for the poetry of everyday language – seek it out wherever hides.  And when you find its dread cadence creeping into common expression, shine the spotlight of your pure reason upon it.  Chain it down, hold it back, with all the weight of plain speaking.  Words are monsters, made stronger by the secret rhythms of our unconscious training.  And that hidden poetry will rise up in your mind, until all that remains of your soul is a pulsing beacon of pure art, a swaying sine wave streaking into the universe, impregnating reality with dreams. 
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, 1447

A Box Full Of Fog

13Jun2018
There was always fog.  Morning, noon, and night.  Thick and cloying; it muted sounds, made of speech a buzz, coated the tongue, and reduced all colors to shades of grey.  Summer, winter, no season seemed to exist under the fog. He thought he recalled a time, perhaps when he was still a very young child, when the sun had shone freely on the city.  It was now little more than a vague, bright disc that did nothing to brighten the fog or to dry the droplets that condensed on his beard. The fog even made its way indoors. It was inescapable, and had been for years.  He was used to it now, and he assumed that everyone else was, too.
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