Welcome to the sinewy stream-of-consciousness that is my life- filled with run-on sentences, sprinkled with unconnected metaphors, dotted with imagery that could only strike up images in my own imagination, complete with oxford commas, and imperfect parallelism; it flows only by necessarily following no pattern of stops or pauses, it flows because it has no rhythm, is so erratic and stumbling that it somehow pulls together into one solid flowing work of nothingness. Because what could my thoughts be to anyone but me? I write, not to inform, but to remind. To remind that you have had these thoughts, these experiences too- if only in your  head. But you didn’t write them down, type them out, patter them fully through to your heart. You left them in your brain to churn away down to nothing, erode like the very soil that you stand upon, only to be blown to another state in the dirty thirties happening today in the 21^st century of your imagination.  Because we don’t leave our thoughts to fallow.

We belabor and push and strike out

A B C D

 on little sheets of light green inked paper because it is what we do. And it is right. C is the right answer. If C is right, why punish ourselves when C is the teacher’s answer too? Because it isn’t right. Right is the opposite of left. And we have left our imagination to die on the rocks, insides pecked at by eagles because maybe it would have lit up our life, it is a thing of the gods, of fairies, of giants and centaurs and beautifully lit night skies. We’ve let our thought pollution blot out our stars.

But they are still there,

if only you escape to another place, another world, another hill covered in whispering towers of grass.

Welcome to my life.

You can stay if you’d like.