Satan in the Living Room

Fuck. I got nothing.
You want honesty? How's this:
The only reason I'm posting is so I will have a November 2005 archive.

Am I lost for words or lost for the motivation to site down and write?

I reread some of my old blog posts, I cannot believe how long it has been, and I am amazed that I was able to wrench all those words from myself, tight-lipped and sullen. The metallic taste of the fight on my silver and envenomed tongue-tip.



I spend so much time reading, writing, thinking about writing and so little to show for it - I’m writing in place. An evolutionary dead end, sunk in a tar pit. Fighting my own viscosity. Scattered, useless, life.



And I am getting lazy, relying on my photographs to tell the story that I can’t find the right words to tell you, teach the lesson for which I cannot parse the lesson plan


Blase, blase, blase.