{april haiku: meltdown}

“Writing demands the cracking of idealized image, and that can be as disquieting as it is enlivening. It requires a deep intimacy with oneself, a revelation of one’s mind to others, that may be deeply uncomfortable. The cure for my writers’ block is to sit with this discomfort and work my way into it, whether in a direct or roundabout way, until the truth emerges.” – Shilpa Kamat

It is a truth universally acknowledged that if one is going to have an existential crisis, one is generally going to have that crisis late, on a Sunday night, so that Monday morning, too, will be just as ragged, uncertain and disastrous. This seems to have been true in school, when things were due on Monday at first period, and continues to be true now that sleep is necessary and a new pile of Things To Do crouches possessively over the pristine new week. Right when I need to chill out and go to sleep, I can’t. It never fails.

Note to self: do not think about your writing before you go to bed. Just don’t.

Caspar 02

a featureless sea
endless, clammy, dark and cold —
there waits 3 a.m.

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