How do you record a moment of recognition? How do you capture moments of lost time and fill them with flowers? How do you grow a second self, one with ink for blood and paper for bones? By writing, of course.
Why attempt such folly as reshaping the world within your mind just to watch it transform again outside? It’s absurd, isn’t it? But if you’re not breaking down the world, how do you build anything new?
I’m making payments to the wind and sacrifices to the moon. Writing demands these offerings—it asks you to confront what threatens everything you hold dear.
If I understand you, then yes—now is the time. The time has come for flesh and blood to transmute into paper and ink. The only problem is, paper burns. But then again, man rots.
In that fleeting moment of recognition, we glimpse our own folly in this battle with mortality.
Welcome — I’m glad you’re here.
Journeys and Star Gazing 