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Nov. 10th, 2008
(no subject)
Nov. 10th, 2008 11:11 amI wish that I could remember how to write.
I wish that I could recall the business of putting pen to paper and blindly watching the ink unravel itself across a surface of textured napkin and smooth paper, squished onto envelopes and yellow post-it notes. Pieces of me fragmented and scattered with hubristic abandon around the house. Crammed into notebooks, stuck to dresser drawers and the doors of cabinets.
Even if I gather them up, now they are just noise in my hands, pre-celluloid images without reference. Tattered, beggared beginnings and a few corners without a story.
I wish that I could recall the business of putting pen to paper and blindly watching the ink unravel itself across a surface of textured napkin and smooth paper, squished onto envelopes and yellow post-it notes. Pieces of me fragmented and scattered with hubristic abandon around the house. Crammed into notebooks, stuck to dresser drawers and the doors of cabinets.
Even if I gather them up, now they are just noise in my hands, pre-celluloid images without reference. Tattered, beggared beginnings and a few corners without a story.