Sunday, January 27, 2008


if i'm a writer i should write. if i'm a writer i should say i'm a writer and i write short stories. when i'm blogging i should write advice or prose or opinion and not mix all that up.

i shouldn't hold back because the loss of expression is death. i can use expression even in it's most selfish and self aggrandized forms. when writing about writing i don't need to think oh what a silly person i am writing about writing. there are so many professions and each profession is a position a person must enter. the person must learn the position and boundaries and activities. the position is maintained. writing is not an act of polarization. most people are unbearable and light. imagine a person is a country. the country decides to be a warring state. the country decides to become the great economic power. the country decides capitalism is the way to distill civil unrest amongst the people. the country decides to speak another language. the country decides to use another currency to trade. the country decides to become a secular nation.

when i'm writing i wonder what am i doing to people. when i'm writing i wonder if i can tell a story. i wonder if i'm writing to avoid interaction. i wonder if it is by choice that i attempt to construct the fleeting.

yesterday t wrote align in the air. when she told me she wrote 'align' in the air i didn't know she meant 'align.' i don't know she wrote 'align' and not 'a line'.

i'm a lazy person. next time someone asks i'll say i'm a lazy person and i used to write stories. i used to be a crooked salesman. i used to be a background actor. when the director yelled, 'background,' that's when i'd become a blur on the screen. i used to be injured and when i was asked about my injury i said it was temporary. not a problem, just temporary.

i tell a lot of stories about myself. i stopped writing because i wanted to tell a story about a frog that hopped over a hill. he hopped over a hill and the sun would rise. i never wake up early enough to watch the sunrise

Friday, January 25, 2008


i looked for her all the time. i saw her in every black haired angel. i once saw her the same night turning her body to a rock song, and then later she was sipping a long neck. it wasn't real, there was always doubt. i knew that wasn't the way she danced. i knew she only drank drinks that were limey and hard.

weekend update

something different now. i'd call it a spark. the spark is like the hitch of a screw on the highway. that one hop spark that is probably just a chip of the screw and not by definition a spark.
my first encounter with the spark was last week. a giant lever was removed from my back and now i am conscious. then i turned around and i saw the lever that was on my back and i was paralyzed in my nose cartilage.