what’s point of being holy if you’re not going to be happy while you’re at it? Also, why would god make butterflies and puppies and sunrises and nachos if (s)he didn’t care about our happiness?
Yes, there’s a brilliant spark of creative intent at the beginning of all things but also: random chance, bad luck, sunshine, shitloads of human free will, evolution (maybe? don’t judge me), and lots of general shenanigans / fuckery. (how long O Lord?)
I’m here because I want to be the kind of person who writes. I want to stay in the habit of putting words to all the static and colors inside of me. Even if it’s just for ten minutes.
this is a poem about the
(Water Service has been scheduled for disconnection)
i found taped to my door this morning
and about the existential crises
You may remember I was super sad, and then I got divorced, and then I did a bunch of yoga and cooking, and then I stopped blogging. Now I’m back.
Yesterday at 3:17 p.m. I typed into Google “I don’t feel joy.” I had no reason to be unhappy, and yet…
If you’re here for this — disjointed bits and pieces of my ordinary life, the spectacle of watching a writer spar with the keyboard and his own ego in an attempt to write a few words of which he can be proud — welcome.