Today I discovered a hose, a garden hose, and I also discovered a garden, the kind with plants in it, and I also discovered plants, the kind with water in their leaves, and I also discovered leaves, the kind that are green but dying, or else they are living too. Now there is something stark in the chair, a feeling called “me.”
A small attempt to make myself be less lazy: I will post little episodes from the novel I’ve been trying to write by not writing it; but now I am writing it again. I will post them over here. Maybe you can help me by reading them, forgetting them, then having dreams, forgetting those too, then writing notes on pieces of paper you let drift away, the way trees let their leaves drift away, without knowing why they do it, or maybe they know–it will be the same with you, you’ll know or you won’t why you’re releasing words into the air. I’ll keep looking for your messages. I’ll find them if I try. I’ll try. Then I’ll have dreams and forgettings, and maybe I’ll write.
Thank you for the ideas, for I now have none.