Y así, tan de repente tan de intentarlo una y todas las veces. Tan a la distancia, tus letras. Entre barcos naufragantes y pistas de aterrizaje. Tú. Tan, tanto, tú. Lo que siempre. En el vórtice de la casualidad. Tetraedros. Moebius.
A contraluz de tus pestañas, el aleteo incesante. Aquella posibilidad. De tanto y de todo.
The existing state of things it’s a bird saying morning’s gone -tomorrow is lost… as a winter caleidoscope of old warm memoirs. Step after another missed. And i here now from another land not from another soil dust to faire les choses dans le sens d’être among a coalition of both self and being.
I’ll leave -nor i’ll wait nor i’ll décoré watercolors of some other vivid printemps
It’s been a really long time since I talked about writing.
I started this blog years ago when I was determined to be a writer (re: do more than just fill notebooks at home, in private, with no one to read what was in them). I thought I’d write confidently and prolifically about the craft and business of writing, as I was growing and learning. But since then I have drifted far from that center to explore whatever was interesting to me. Turns out I didn’t want to be bound by one idea of what I should be sharing. Turns out I’m not so good at having a unified message.
I’m coming back to writing today because I’ve lately been thinking about how much it’s changed for me. Whatever fount of creativity I’ve been clinging to over the last few years has dried up and left in its place a…