On the desire I have to get back to why I started “living online” in the first place: writing for the love of it, writing when the story inside is begging to be told.
“When I tried to write happy / Yo I knew I lied, I lived a life of crime / Why play ya blind?”
The hare sat in the chair over there by the pear.
Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow, which means y’all gotta take that motherfucker seriously.
Let me tell you a story about a dog named Chuck.
“I know that I belong to a small, eclectic community of men and women where status is calibrated precisely as a function of one’s ability to endure.”
“Running under the watchful eye of Kilimanjaro” and bonking at mile 9.
When he heard this news he took a huge shit right next to my bedroom door.
To gluten or not to gluten while eating on a pier at the beach.