mjbwriting

i’m exhausted. are you exhausted? if it’s not one thing, it’s another. at the mercy of forces and losing all control. it’s a total struggle to negotiate thinking and talking. i hear wind traffic and birds. it helps. what is here for the moment is not here for the moment.
be gentle. be kind. be soft.
who am i talking to, exactly?

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a tickle in the brain. what is it all about? i don’t know. it is like the itch that does not go away until you scratch it hard and you regret it. and you also bleed a little bit.
there is sometimes strength in resistance to that scratching. power is awakened and established as a resource.

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expected something weird and got something weird. feel anxious. going to try some cbd to see if that calms me.

my thoughts. war is constant. learn how to be a warrior. pick a style. or discover it. and then choose it. you will know if by the way it feels. for me soft style wins.

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Every bath has its day. The sunshine shone clearly without mischief today. I got the wordle in 3. All is right with the world. Bob Dylan has been recorded, and we can all listen. I like his book. Anyone can read it anytime, anywhere, starting where they like. Sometimes drinking makes it better too, you know.
What is a paragraph? A look or a feeling. Metal gleaming light reflections. Mirror understanding consequence a dot a falling down day a flower suddenly in bloom welcoming like not everything is awful all the time but sometimes at a certain time for sure as though it meant something. Like as if someone would read it and get into it. As if. Oh oh here comes the fucking spin cycle again.

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This is something. I and me and myself and you and us and them and it and she and he and they and all.

There is relating.

The sunshine wind grain pizza oven. Is there any of it? Let the costume do the work for you. Store it somewhere. Too much noise in the signal.

The way is not a thing. The course is becoming a thing and returning to nothing. The course is coming and going. The course is arriving and departing.

There is no leaving the way, the way is leaving and returning and going somewhere else.

Does the way resist anything? Is that a way of it going? And then letting go, and accepting.

I am the light and the way. So they say.

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mjbwriting

mjbwriting

I am mjboyce, author of 2 novels: Monkey & Anderson (Pedlar Press). Working on my 3rd novel & a book of poetry (sort of). I also make photos & music.