What is this

The thing is, other people seem to have things to say. I mostly just like to arrange the words on paper.

And what’s worse is that now I’m aware there’s a formula, or recipe, or something, only I don’t know what it is and I didn’t know I needed one, and now I don’t know how to do the thing that I thought I was already doing, and have since confusedly stopped, and don’t quite know how to start again.

Is there definitely a right way to do it? Am I definitely doing it wrong? What if doing it wrong was my object? Why do I even need to have an object?

Lydia says that you can’t just put something on paper and get people to decide what it means, because that’s lazy. You’re supposed to let people know what things mean.

But what about when singers garble words so that they sound like they could be several words at once? What if I’m just curious? Maybe I want to write in conversations, rather than in bulletins. But then, I suppose that only works if someone responds.

I’ve probably wandered somewhere I don’t quite belong.

I’m staying, though. This is sort of fun.



While crying, some of the punishment washed away.

Some of the anger turned outward
And, as it was fire, it shed some light.

This is a lot, isn’t it?
A reasonable, long-silent voice asked, sounding sad.

A lot?

It is, I suppose. It’s my lot.

Like anyone else’s lot, it counts.

Yes. This is a lot.

Standing up amongst the rubble,

I feel something begin.