if writing were a woman…

our relationship would be a mess…ive neglected her…ignored her…cheated…pimped…abused…and taken her for granted…and yet…she keeps coming back…whispering in my ear…telling me her secrets….expressing her faith in me…showing me new ways to think…see…feel…asking nothing in return…

thankfully, writing is not a woman…it would be difficult to respect a woman like that…

it is a habit…a practice…a craft…an art…i find that it requires…a discipline…that only takes hold in me…from time to time…

(a mea culpa, if you will…for my disappearance…my life…my health…has taken center stage and this…this exercise in vanity…and other flights of fancy…had to be put away for a minute…it’s all about priorities…anyway…i’ll get my shit together soon enough…so i can be…again…just another distraction in a world of frivolous noise…)

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