June 1, 2016
Wow world. //so I’m sitting here (1244 at night) all wide eyed & depressed-like, right? & I’m writing. & I’m outside. Man, though, am I inside this little description I’ve got going on. Inside the words. I feel them dainty & honest, (gross, unnerving). Frank without being dry. [a painting of a girl all dressed up in her car, tired, & having herself a little smoke.] Well,
would you believe the app crashed? Ha. I waited. What would happen? What would the “I” do? & so without not being sad [she] nodded, looked out the window to my childhood home & suddenly thought of the Tibetan sand mandala tradition. (millions & more grains of sand meticulously placed a lovely & sacred design at 10hr/day for about a week. Then lovingly adored by many a moment, a day or a few. Then swept away. // The monks in their knowing scatter the sand anew at the end.) /
/& this “I” thought of as I peered through the dark.
(That’s not to say I won’t be fucking bummed if this one gets deleted.)