Sometimes all I know is that I want words to spill onto the page. Now, if I knew what they were supposed to be then I'd really be cooking, but that is rarely the case. So here are three thoughts of the moment. Not worth much. But they're words on the page--most of the time that's all I've got.
The thing that burns with radiance is my inability. While some might focus on what they've got, I can only see what I don't have. Oh woe is me. Please burn the earth down for me.
Like Ignatius J Reilly, and the one who preceded him, Quixote, I am at full scale war with modernity.
If my son rages against the mini-death that is a nap much longer I will tear my garment and adorn myself in sack cloth and ashes, weeping for the cacophony of shards of sanity that is my present lot in life.