1) Nearly my entire life, I have been resistant to progress/the interweb/social media, and while that is fun and all—and being a hater IS fun—it has gotten me NOWHERE.
2) I have some writing. Lots of writing. Mountains of writing. You know the scene in the Sword in the Stone where Arthur has like a whole dungeon full of dishes to do? It's like that, but with words.
Pictured: my literal kitchen, my metaphorical bookshelf.
That being said, I'm pretty sure there is something in this pile that is useful. So The Plan (tm) is to tidy up the writing junk heap and begin selecting and presenting some of these words to you, in case you want to read them. I am optimistically choosing to do this on my blog, which means some of the writings on Facebook will be coming down soon, because neatness.
Oh! And this may take a while. I have a technological skills deficit the size of the national debt, so The Plan will have to be executed in phases. I hope ya'll stay with me. Here's a poem to tide you over.
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Waves (July 2012)
The crazy thing is:
your waves endure.
Today, your rushing by, your length, striding.
I thought: wind.
I remember what I loved,
how I floated on the surface you unsettled.
What is so real, now? Limbs lying in pools of sunlight?
What is so lit in memory, the drops of water on your face?
Your leaving and entering the world through the portal of a
book?
There was nothing so mutable and yet so solid,
nothing so fast,
nothing that doesn’t blaze across my mind like bands of
fire,
streaking across the sea toward the past, to where we’re
still us
somewhere.
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