Keep It Regular
the inexact language holds up a mirror cracked a willed error by a dogmatism backed a generosity of spirit lacked into the corner backed the overpainted image dead a hack writer over an exquisite corpse hacked an earworm burrowed into your head…
it’s a cold morning you can hold your breath a mist bank moving giving shape to an easy dream it hangs like a photo on a milk wall stood dreaming it alone in a room full of people crows fly straight roman…
Sometimes your writing grows through the practice that you do and the lessons that you apply to your art. Sometimes the writing grows because you yourself go on a journey that allows growth and an increase of understanding. Sometimes it is a…
This year has been fucking exhausting. If it isn’t the bullshit engendered by being surrounded by hidden enemies who are enemies solely on the basis of not doing what is necessary not to get Covid. I have lost track of how many…
Writing about human interactions is sometimes as pleasurable as experiencing human interactions. As a writer it is easy to slip into valuing the former and casting aside the latter. Your work and your life will suffer. The ingredients for writing are life…
does ten minutes on the alarm do anything? i wake my bladder chimes in shortly after the cats are starving my wife moves to the shower because it takes her longer and i dig into that margin of comfort just deep enough…
I have been writing a lot. And I have published a fair bit too. There is a joy in hard work. If you write something that touches someone else then it is all the better. I have been on TikTok quite a…
I’m writing for myself. Liar. Why post it somewhere if you don’t expect someone to read it? I see you blush and smile when someone says that they like your writing. When someone says that you have moved them or said something…
if you believe the one you love is the better person you have to at least do nothing to worsen their life but when you look in their eyes you know they feel the same about you personal pain is a filter…
can’t sit how i used to can’t shit how i used to time has abused you past habits have fused you and youth has refused you access to the fountain the inverse mountain underneath where the old mans sits and where the…