NOT MEANT TO BE
You wanted to talk about the night sky And the moonlight on the lake While he was swatting at a mosquito on his leg And wondering when you’d shift Your head heavy with poetry That was causing pins and needles in his arm
It rained all night, turning windows into water features and water features into windows onto the nature of water.
But this was largely a futile display because most people weren’t awake to reflect on it.
I, however, stood at my bedroom window at two in the morning and still at four, curtains pulled back, all the house lights off, contemplating the fact that, of all the kinds of precipitation, rain is my favourite. I prefer its honest simplicity over the self-cons
Some Thoughts on Writing (gleaned from minimal experience and maximum exposure)
THE NATURE OF A WRITER If you wish to locate writers in the universe of Venn diagrams, you must first locate the circle marked ‘crippling self-doubt’ and then find where it overlaps with the space for ‘absolute narcissism’. That’s where Art lives. This realization comes at a cost to the aspiring writer. Any good writer is an avid reader – this elementary relationship is always pointed out whenever an author who’s
Some good things in the world (other than sliced bread) that human beings are responsible for: playlists you make yourself and puff pastry you don’t; the Parthenon and the Borgesian Library of Babel; Google’s search-by-image option and amazon.com; the myth of Prometheus; Angostura bitters; the way bubble wrap pops; wit; Sharpie pens and the convenient way paper folds; delete functions and snooze buttons; the strings in Madonna’s “Frozen” and the synthesizer-turbulence of Tori Amos’s “Hotel”; par