Dedicated

Since I was very small my favorite way to write has been with my head laying on the table, my ear smooshed against it so that I can hear the sound of my pencil making words. I still only write with pencil. But I am not afforded the precious, grandmother-scrubbed table top I used to have for my homework.

I don't feel safe losing myself to any one activity, anymore.

My habit of writing in a vacuum hasn't changed much, though. Now it is just me and the clicking keys. Usually I type everything out in a fury. Don't bother to fact check. Don't look up the words I'm unsure of until I'm completely done.

Rhythm comes first. After that is meaning. After that comes rhythm, again.

I am always at least a little shocked when I look up to find what my classmates are up to.

When I bother to check.

When I stop navel gazing.

I'm humbled.

What I am learning more and more every time: You can't do this thing, the writing or the living of life, all half-assed. You're only fucking yourself out of something truly transcendental when you play it safe.

Revealing the pieces of us that are the most terrified and shell-shocked is one of the kindest things we could ever do for the whole wide world.

The bravest, as well.

The most savage.



I want three hundred and sixty degrees, an old school Cutlass, and more heart than the law allows.