Regret Is A Pilgrimage Back To The

My Older Sister Has Entire Kingdoms Inside Of Her, And Some Of Them Are Only Accessible At Certain Seasons, In Certain Kinds Of Weather.

My Fingers Curl Through The Holes In The Wicker, Through The Wet Grass Beneath It, Trying To Hold Tight To The Sharp Blades Of The Present. Somewhere In My Brain A Sinkhole Is Bubbling Over, And Each Bubble Contains A Scene From A Tiny Sunken World ... I Have Never Been The Prophet Of My Own Past Before. It Makes Me Wonder How The Healthy Dreamers Can Bear To Sleep At All, If Sleep Means That You Have To Peer Into That Sinkhole By Yourself. ... I Had Almost Forgotten This Occipital Sorrow, The Way You Are So Alone With The Things You See In Dreams.

Self-disciplin E Is Necessary, But So Is Playfulness, Flexibility, Joy. When You Stop Demanding Perfection Of Yourself, Your Writing Desk Will Become A Spacious Place.

I Am Extremely Close To My Brother, Kent, And My Sister, Lauren, Who Have Been Remarkably Understanding About All Of My Weird Sibling Tales.

I Hope That In My Thirties I Grow As A Writer, Push Into New Territory.