All morning I’ve been jonesing to write.
Write paragraphs.
Not code, like I’ve been doing.
My thoughts are on editorials that matter only to me, but I put them out of my head like so many other words I will never say, that you will never hear, only to have them creep up in vivid dreams of adventure and love untold.
Proofeading, I originally mistyped “cream” instead of “creep” in the above paragraph. I wonder why. Cream, sh-boogie bop?
And I’m paranoid, because my writing needs practice. How will I ever find “my voice”?
Going through the motions is making me generic. It’s time to rock until your face melts off.
Until I have time to write more, a haiku:
i feign interest,
eating yogurt with a fork.
you see through my bull.
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