blog factory

there's the kind of tragedy that begins with a seemingly insignficant detail that is overlooked...the letter left unopened, the phone call unreturned, the cigarette not put out, the dog that is forgotten to be fed...that's why i totally sweat the small stuff. cuz it's the little things that have snuck up on me in the past and im not lettin that shit happen again.

when i look back a lot of the time all i can say is, 'damn, i shoulda seen it comin!'

fucking hell i'd love to have a snappy site. y'know...lots of short, witty posts about the government and my big toe.

i'd ask questions and people would answer them in the comments.

last year at this time is when i took the hinges off and thought about shuttin down the blog but instead just came out to y'all as the liar/fiction writer that i was/am and then kept paddling along, upstream style.

it's all about hard work, i told myself. get rid of your romanticized views of art and put in the hours.

the long, lonely hours, in which i reconfigure my life with words.

an act which is both the power and the glory

as well as the shit and the hole.

sometimes, when it's late in the evening and everyone's out and about,
i tell myself im sick of nearly drowning and never getting anywhere.

im tired of living as a prince among thieves and a pauper among the princes.

...and yet it's my own ego which has brought me here.

(halos were found at the landing site)



i can't believe all those people were killed by the waves,

although when i saw the headlines on monday morning i didn't feel shocked--

merely loose.

loose and alive as i walked down the avenue in my boots like it was the end of the world.