one month

it’s been one month since I’ve written. beyond these meandering little messages, there hasn’t been any poetry out of this mind, and I think I’ve enjoyed the break.

The novel: no closer. Kind of like the pakora mix in my cupboard, the idea for its creation is now over three months overdue and still not manifesting itself. perhaps this is a good thing. Perhaps the drive to completion of a book was too much to handle, but now not so, and now laziness and the self-depreciation that exists after throwing it all on the line is setting in.

The pictures like to come from my cameraphone. I’m not too happy with their quality, but their immediacy is very much related to the thoughts in my head – their instantaneous nature and the way they are so full of holes and scratches and blotches and all that wonderful grit that makes life … life.

It’s been one month since I published my last poem. And it’s been a very good month.