It’s late and I don’t cave easy. I write therefore I am. I write; for this I came. I write to disseminate the hubris and blueness; humility is an empty gesture in private. Perhaps trees make noises or perhaps they don’t when no one is listening (I didn’t say fall because if we’re guessing based on what we don’t hear they could be saying “Two paths diverged in a wood and when frost took mine I moved a little bit and he bonked his big stupid head on my bark. Much worse than my bite”).
I said I was going to write daily again, and I said it to myself and I typed it on these hallowed(ish) pages, and so, I write nonsense. Well, no, real nonsense is hard to write. You try writing the Jabberwocky with a copy close at hand for structure. Or even a CCR tune when John Fogerty just has to be singing something different than what it sounds like. It’s not easy.
I need to do this though, not because I pledged my word, hell, how could you type wearing gauntlets (I know that word has come to mean other things through usage, but I think, and correct me if I’m wrong, they’re those big heavy ass chain mail gloves). I need to do it because I don’t do Sudoku and regular crosswords are tiresome, even the New York Times, when you get used to the style of puzzle maker you can pretty much guess at what clue h/she’ll use. I’m saying one needs to use ones brain for something. I was going to use it for brain surgery, but the only gig open was patient.
So, there’s all that and now there’s this
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