diary [006] waiting

I am waiting to write. The waiting game is more excruciating than the writing itself. You wait and wait until something within you, the impetus, begins to overflow begins to overtake whatever walls you’ve built whatever hesitancies belie your abilities. At that point you’re left with no choice only compulsion. I am waiting to beContinue reading “diary [006] waiting”

diary [003] bedtomb(e)

Rather than kick street clothes and other paraphernalia to the ground, I’ve been letting it clutter at the foot of my bed in the hopes that one day my belongings will entomb me and I will live in perfect harmony with the best of what thrift stores have had to offer. I’ve been too exhaustedContinue reading “diary [003] bedtomb(e)”

diary [002] only child

Being an only child really lends itself to writing since you’re always already in conversation with yourself. I wonder about the impact of imagined interactions both from dreams and waking life. Like people I know, my thoughts about them, come not only from what they’ve said and done but also from what I’ve imagined them toContinue reading “diary [002] only child”