Oh wow. It's been a few days.

Ever feel like "the daily grind" in fact exists? Writing has been like "pulling teeth" lately.  Guess I need to "pull myself up by the bootstraps" and decide whether or not I am "man enough" for daily divulgences, hiccupping clean.  "The task at hand" is rabid with new tricks.  "Waking up on the wrong side of the bed" means you rolled around in your sleep, peeping into the nether world of awesome possibility. I dream cast constant, hitting the crests of infinite cumulus, the powdered fists of the first fighters: those seraphim fantastic. And back "down to earth," the real hurt, raw and infused with chemical ruin.  Captured again by alarm clocks, living just one day in the full round and back underground tinkering with all the dirtied leftovers of the brain.  Rusty crusted pieces of furnace and fireplace; old laundry; broken glass and doorknobs to no mans land.  Welcome to my backyard.  This isn't Narnia, no little half-goat will show you the way but if you wait in this open space a direction will be revealed: a narrative arc of a one-(wo)man show.