it's hard to grasp thoughts these days. i pedal through my street and feel the thoughts churn through my head, phrases stitching into sentences, and my impression of them is that they are good. they are gone by the time i reach any place. were they ever real? my life is dreams.


my life is sliding under the sky; my life is a fender that persistently rubs against the wheel. my life is dogs that strain at leashes when i pass them. my life is a series of exhales, each of which removes something from my body so that there is room to bring something else in. of course, it's not possible to control what comes in; that's what my snot is for. that's what my lungs are for. that's what my blood cells are for. these parts of my body sift through what passes by and grips the pieces it wants to survive.


this week's rules for reading the news: throughout the day, feel free to queue up articles indiscriminately. when you go to bed, anything from the day that you have not read through, you may dequeue forever.

there's no real reason to take in every set of words that anyone else has ever produced.

23 January 2018 14:42

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