One can feel like a vampire out in the desert, sun blazing. It’s cold hiding in the shadows all day, but the unabated sun is hardly bearable for more than a couple of minutes.
I’m used to the constant, thick heat of Southeast Asia at this point.
There’s an ever-watchful eye in your life, but who’s is it?
Not yours. And its judgements it makes are not your own.
Even after having read the previous sentence, it will begin to tell you the story of this problem, and how you need to fix it.
There’s something brewing within me and it feels like hatred.
Tame, but disdain.
Everyone’s stuck, but why think about them when you are too?
What about them renegade vows?
Vows are never made for another. They’re made for oneself.
No excerpt.
1:39pm, Ho Chi Minh City
Today I woke to the sound of rain filling me with memories of growing up in the Pacific Northwest.
To me warm rain is like a warm blanket.
The warm rain of my past tugs at my heart.
Well if I can’t remember why I picked up the pen in the first place then I’ll simply write about The Despair.
Once again this morning I was engulfed by it. It comes from the pressure to succeed; the fear of failure.
Reputation. Let’s talk it.
A reputation has no benefit to a person other than that which is measurable. I’m talking dollars and cents. Forget being liked. Forget looking perfect for the sake of being considered so. Where is the utility?
Silence . . . silence . . .
Oftentimes I avoid it, trading it for the pleasures of music.
But what a sacrifice.
What a misstep.
Even now as I write this work, I merely date and do not title.
Sitting on the edge of a fertile valley. Trees push uphill in the distance, hands on each other’s backs like a trail of army ants: Brotherhood of Green. Smoke fills the vale from unknown sources. Little lights open their eyes blinking on, as dusk descends upon the highlands.
I wanted to speak with you, but I’m not sure how because I don’t know who you are.
You don’t?
No. I used to think I did. But that wasn’t really you, was it?
No.
Another ghost?