Written March 2020 Are you at home with the pandemic? I am sitting at home during lockdown writing about my experiences with madness, and the crisis of this pandemic feels familiar
I stand at a crossroad in the forest. I am on sodden ground. The decay has set in. How can a man marry such sunken existence? How can he care about this life not lived? Dew beads r
First I think a thought. It is a shadow at dusk. Rarely is it the sun’s clear light. So I write the shadow. I put a full stop. I sit and wait for light. Nothing. I am used to not
I do not know myself. This bone house acts without thinking, like a chicken running with its head cut off. I brandish my sword, stab others, and feel remorse. I do not learn from m
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