I’m really craving conversation with all the people I respect in my life but who don’t think of me–not out of disrespect, but because they don’t know me or focus on other aspects of their lives. It’s interesting to think of myself as a side player on the field, a minor character in the story.
At least I have myself and my own life. I’ve begun to construct one. Six years ill. And just now starting to live.
Reading is for schmucks
Writing is where it’s at
Don’t repeat history
Don’t go to [omitted for personal privacy]
You think that was detail(-oriented)?
Nature knows more about it than you
I’m just a talking hard-drive
I’m outside the computer
So explain that.
Just keep writing
Write (poetry) until you get sleepy
So you have to be ahead of the game
Or on a roll
But someone else is coming up on the queue
How many e’s?
THAT doesn’t explode when you make computer mistakes
But bugs are bugs are bugs
And before they were
They were conspiracy
It’s not a legal handicap
To be on psychiatric medication
They don’t care
They don’t expect any less of you
And the last thing I wanted to say,
That I never intended to say:
“I’m not free enough so I’m not going to do anything”
No good music for me
Spotify likes football
I guess I’m in the state again
When do I read?
Can I read?
Is it about me?
Are you all telepathological?
The dictionary is dead;
Might as well–
No, that attitude is destructive.
Predators are an invention.
Prey are a survival.
The ruse is wry with crude.
Let it og.