february twentieth
two years agoI have an ambivalent relation with the serpentines of my writing and with my endless splitting of hairs. It never splits to zero and I have to stop it in mid-split, which is not even a mid-split, because there is no end-split to oppose the beginning-split. And whenever I leave things unfinished I am guilty and my
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A is doing something to B while C is watching. I have fantasies about that.
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