a jungle, a jumble, a spool of words
to make it make sense:
what other reason is there, really, to write? I have always found myself here, poking at things, pushing, pulling, prodding at this day from all angles, to see what can be made of it. a dent here, a scratch there, inflicting damage in the same way a sculptor hacks at stone with the promise of optimizing its form.
I’ve never been one to weave together a story; instead I’ve always written for the sake of the thing, for the way that words sound, one after another – at times soft and worn like a well-known hand on your bare shoulder, and other times devastating, with hard R’s and crunchy K’s and turns of phrase that tell you something about yourself that you never asked to know. like unspooling yarn, I put words down and watch where they go.
so I am here, on this new-to-me platform, preparing to unfold things, untangle things, pick at the spool.
here I will share poetry, essays, accompanying visual art, and whatever else might break loose along the way. it’s for me, it’s for you, it’s for absolutely no one and absolutely everyone. I am here to share, because any form of self-expression, when shared, takes on a whole new life, and that’s worth poking at.