The clouds indeed partied. A beautiful day at the camping.
I remembered I wasn't a poet. Ot a writer. Or a has been. Then I remembered I was never was a something something. Then I remembered I'm not that person. Fuck the words. Fuck that. And then has no meaning. And then there was no more. I lied.
Once, when we were younger, and there were no words, we spoke freely and without resolve. Then time, and grievance found home in our hearts. Now silence seems appropriate when audiences grow louder. Oh time. Why'd you make me see you passing.
If you thought something more, well, it's the camping.
Number 1 is expectations. This isn't a polished review. This is incomplete thoughts. Posts that are unfinished. Rough drafts. Blurry photos. Unfinished pieces of music. Just a smattering of whatever, whenever. There will be an effort, someday, to sort this shit out. Give category, and reason for why each post should exist. Maybe identify some [...]
But Margaret Atwood told me I should just write, in a YouTube video ad. Somehow cars became words. She said write, so I did. Ugggggggggggg. And the need to agonize over every phrase, and the need to have a conjunction, a pause, a break; something other than just words, and punctuation. Grrrrrrrrrrrrr. Just stop. Words [...]
On a smoke break. After the rain. Clouds parted and a bit of the sun was let through. The cars drove by letting up fine mists of spray from the still wet roads. The sound more subdued. Less traffic, less people, less noise. The calm as day gives way to night. I do love a [...]
The long thaw of winter finally over, I began to see life in the garden.