read this but if you read this and you have been reading this read the other couple that follow and these are reverse chronological for now starting from here which they always are anyway but you know what I mean I am not dead but I am dead too oh if only we could drink and talk but this will be as good as it gets for you unless you are skullbolt in which case I might see ya dog in which whether or not eventuality you are forever exempt



we got new forms here and we can say new things in these new forms and still have them be Lit. who is to say what is?????????? Is Literature alive and well? You better come on in my kitchen



it's going to be raining outdoors yeh I used to sing that one still can just did I bet



I beg



I guess I should just go to bed

because I am laboring under the burden

of getting anything anything at all out on the page

and I am drinking beer as usual and while it's not exactly clouding my head

I am not a ball of holy fire yet.



But it is only really my third night of you know here I am

after I said I am going to write no matter what and so here I am doing it. Yeah

this is a poem. but one with no line breaks. and no regard for anything beyond words,

any words, whatever words you can find, dog, whatever words

you can muster. it just feels so much better



just to type along than to sit silent and bound and beholden

to too many ideas. all day at work today in my hole I was trying to muster

some kind of referendum on the process of writing and I couldn't do it. and I'm not doing it now.



and what a bore this is here you'd think if I was letting it flow and letting it fly

and flaying it out I really would just flay it and tell some of the good stuff. so much of the good stuff is from

the so distant past to me yet not so much in years no more certainly than ten years ago and who cares? what is the good stuff?

but if I start writing it what will I have? what will it be? well



this is part of the referendum. I think I could write some short stories that are just mildly disguised versions of things that've happened to me and maybe I should as a form of catharsis. tell it straight, add some shit, tweak something, but in the right

way, call it fiction. i know this is what many writers do

and I guess I will do it because making stuff out of purer imagination, making from out of the dream, is harder.

or is it. no, it shouldn't be. but what I'm saying



what I'm saying to you right now is I need some stories I can tell fast as I can tell them. fast. fast. I need production. I need work. I need backlog. I need ore. I need stumps to cut off and to hew out of them my sick little wood sculptures. if I face it I bet I could write a whole volume of short stories just shit that's happened to me. based on that shit. I know something of the fiction will enter into it but I

do think I need to codify somehow as a start

my own personal details. I keep finding ways to peel

off out of the main thing I am supposed to be workin on but that is