i just wrote in muh odd sort a scattered journal:
this is better than having cancer and the stock market crash at the same time.
let's say i had a cottage in the city to go to on retreats from the country, say ... a cottage retreat? where i could go write my poetry in the raw cold desolate wildly natural mountain of human existence? retreating from the heart of god.
senya said if you look at them in the eye too long, you'll burn them
and you can't write it all down, god talks too fast
whatever it is, let's see how this looks as a post. [i really really want to see thuh title!]