writing about a writer's block is better than not writing at all
it is all ash and dry leaves and grief gone like an ocean liner.
In my next life I want to be a cat. To sleep 20 hours a day and wait to be fed. To sit around licking my ass.
"Baby," I said. "I'm a genius but nobody knows it but me."
there are so many days when living stops and pulls up and sits and waits like a train on the rails.
What's wrong with assholes, baby?