if you wanna be a writer or a reader you're gonna have to figure out how to stay still. how to breathe in real deep and zoom the heck in, to sit for hours in narrow light or wide light and do only that one thing at a time, to not fucking scroll, to not want to run away.
yes there is space for the aleatory for the angled birds for the pipe of light for the cinnamon smell. but there is no space for a head that cannot stay, that wants to pull so much marrow out of every moment that it must inhabit many at once. no. stay here with the thing even if it is hard. know that the world wants you to glance away quickly, to be flitting, to bang against glass and then the ground, to forget all. but you want to be a moth instead, the madness and the flaming desire of the moth, to know there is limited time but we will flutter at the light with all our might. stay here in this moment if it is silly. stretch your legs even if it hurts. don't smoke and laugh every evening into a slick night. it is a good thing to work. there can be love and peace and pause and promise all within the work. don't always take what comes easy - be kind to the self, kinder than all the world, love the self hard and wildly and through all the difficult days, but PUSH push gently push quietly push warmly keep pushing you are working and living and loving well but there is always a long way to go. be slow. watch a lot. read so you lose what keeps you sturdy. when you are unsturdied and tender-boned, write.