..except 2 of the plates at any one point are smashed and I’m woefully neglecting a third. But all in all, damn fine job.

to grow and die each day
and live the life of a thousand faces
each that would freely spit upon the rest

to twirl unceasingly
caught within the all-consuming whirl of dervishes
the storm chase writ small

ebb, flow, growth, …decay
our obsessions and indifferences
all the futility of flesh laid bare
like putrid brain matter that slurs words

you live today. scream it. you are alive. again, you are alive.

If you write something and it makes you cringe, it might be really good stuff. Or it might be dog shit. Some of this is definitely dog shit.

savour that last glass of red grape juice, sit on them youtube beat tapes and shred that celtx yo

writing is ______

stress relief
free therapy
a way to get things out of our brains
like having a child, except you get to be both proud parents
possibly the purest form of creation
a way to work through our thoughts

writing is all of those things.

It’s also a sneaky way to leave a small part of ourselves in the world forever. Our writings are our horcruxes yo. Word to Ralph Fiennes.

And with that, I’m outty.


Soundcloud link:

Starting a new script tentatively titled London Coconut, aka being brown and thirty. The first one was called No Boxed Gifts and was about being brown and twenty-one. I’m on some Edgar Wright cornetto trilogy shit right now. Fuck with me.