Monday, January 30, 2012

Any time I've written something out of true emotion (sadness, angst), right in the moment of it, it has never been praised.

The masses have heard enough about breakups. I was going to continue the list, but that's all it is. The breaking between people you can't imagine apart; the breaking between a man, forty-six, who, just an hour before his heart-attack, had lunch with his wife; the breaking of a collarbone, tripping down patterned red carpet due to sloppy socks.

It's better in the aftermath, when you can think sensibly about it. Someone once told me that I have a talent for being able to view myself, my mind, my writing (something), from a distance. I suppose in the moment all you can really say is

                              



ouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccchhhhhhhhhhhhh.






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