u go thru all these hard, lonely times when there are no friends around and everything aches and u don’t have the energy to get up and give it another shot but u were born with this STUBBORN STREAK so u crawl up to the lab and sleep on the floor, while the cursor goes blink blink blink on the laptop screen, burning itself into yr retinas so everything u see has the watermark of a blank page.

the best thing would be if the story could write itself...

I know im not the first person to say that.

Im also not the first writer to treat words so importantly…i spend days rearranging them just so. Cuz i know that in the end, if i get the combination right, than to try and retell the plot by changing just ONE would risk something precious getting lost.

that's one of the reasons i never finish anything.

when u finish something u turn it into a statue.

an unplugged robot.

when u don't finish something it remains in flux.

everything is still possible.

there's the openness of youth

like when the drop top is down

and the evening is just beginning

silver and blue

orange and green

rivers and neon signs and the traffic like a smear on the pane

the bridge is there in my dream...but i never make it further than halfway across before i wake up.

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