Tag: writing

once a month, i swear to god i’m done with writing. i tell myself the old internet is dead and there’s no reviving it. i delete whatever medium i’m desperately clinging to for attention or relevance or the tingle of aspiration i once felt in the presence of a cool, self-possessed internet personality and promise to dedicate my precious time and attention to literally anything else. i’ve been on the internet for two decades — surely, i’ve run out of things to say.

and i was so serious this time. morning pages? out of here. journaling? motherfucker, for what?

i’m not in the business of keeping lovers who don’t want to be kept. so genuflecting at the feet of a fickle muse?

Continue reading “The Return”