Monday, September 18, 2017

Let it be shit, and die

Let it be shit

I can’t stand it any more.
It has to be out of me.
And it’s going to be shit and everyone I know is going to hate it and know just how very shit I am
And I don’t even give a shit
I don’t give a shit any more
I don’t care any more that I don’t know enough, haven’t read enough am so much shittier than all the rest and will contribute to the larger canon of shit that will die and be forgotten like all the other shit
And it will reek and I will be despised and everyone will say – how could you do that, and not even make it good – not at least cover yourself by making it good – YOU CALL THAT ART? I am the worst writer that ever lived and it is an awful shame, such a shame, all those lost years for that great big pile of shit
I will revel in the shitness of it and add to the pile of it until the shit-mound becomes so great the whole world will know how shit I am and come to shit on the pile with their own shit (which will be so much better than mine)
Shit, come on, shit arrive, shit get here – I want you more than I want to not be shit – now, please, just let me be shit, and let it not just be inside myself (selfish shit).

Shit be gone. Shit be me. Shit be every day for the rest of my life. Shit be enjoyed.

Thursday, September 14, 2017


When you're feeling like you're moving at a glacial pace in life and creation it's important to watch David Attenborough with your kid and remember the zillions of years it took for the continents to form, the gazillions of people that have been before, the willions that will go thereafter (we hope) and thus your speck-of-dustness in the context of things. This is helping. Because as I watch myself grow older, my hair turn grey, my fingers cramping I - Have - Still - Not - Finished - My - Book. There are the days like today that I think I never will and the only thing that saves me is the stories of the Ages, the generations and the shifts, the nothingness that is my speck of dust, the pleasure I should take in simply breathing. I should watch Fantasia now with her for the 80th time, remember the dinosaurs and the bacteria, the mutations. And from there, the speck, not a pinprick on the face of anything, sit down and write.