Kitaro, The Dead, and Queequeg Walk Into a Bar
Peak moments. Lucid moments. Insight. Understanding. Clarity. Enlightened moments. What fun.
Peak moments. Lucid moments. Insight. Understanding. Clarity. Enlightened moments. What fun.
Who of them will come to be? How many of them are you and me?
screaming motorcycles encircle my house triggering a fear of the dangers of daring to be young again on top of that all the birds a round here are refusing to co operate i remember leaping over the handle bars and painting the street with several inches of my fore head
I am not a disciplined writer. I don't even like to call myself a writer. I don't get writer's block. I get writer's fright. I've said this before. Why does writing frighten me? Because when writing, I can't lie. I can't hide.