I am a pretentious fart. Ugh.

Lack of attention to detail. person with no identity, distinguished or not. only blank spots. reading stories. unnamed characters probably swish through the contours of her mind. they overlap. disconnected, incoherent patches. alternating voids. flat voids.
Few tactile structures. subjects. State, race, colour, sexual organ. being.
Rest, undifferentiated, unidentifiable. A blob.

Adherence, coherence, structure and punctuation are constricting.
That will be my excuse.

The Proposition

seemed bizarre, unlikely. Desired. Deserved?

Metaphors elude me like ideas to the writer’s block.

Agency is constantly questioned. The ‘battle’ is not-new. And where one strives for disavowal and simple pleasures in the garb of ‘happiness’, I try to pass this off as the writing on the wall.

it's that time of the year again.

I can't write.

amongst other things...