Sick on Curtailment
“Fight’s over but I’ll fight on”—the inhibition, at 37, against simply writing down the song in one’s head is part of the problem, the lack of fluency.
In fact I don’t want to know the WiFi password. More harm than good.
The world outside, that one never got inside: it had much surface but very little volume. No one stayed long.
“You need something that makes money while you sleep.” You also need something that doesn’t steal your sleep.
I am getting old very efficiently.
Sours and sweets of exile. The schoolyard wish for retribution, never entirely softened, and the corollary wish to turn into a cactus. I can root between these rocks for centuries. No one will touch my watery heart.
