June 18, 2022
Negative space feels luxurious in a world of clutter. Invert the narrative with me. Let’s call it positive space.
Hone in on the air around you until you’re treading through it. Look not past the air at any point but through it to get to that point.
Invite the smallest sounds to tickle your inner ear. Welcome them as the molecular vibrations they are, physically chain-linking in the same air you tread.
Inhale deeply until you catch whatever small scent billows around your aura. You may be used to it—overcome autonomic rhythm, pick up the olfactory off-beat.
Place your pointer finger on the least interesting surface within reach. Apologize to that surface and tell it how interesting it truly is. Swirl in small, slow circles or find a pattern to produce gentle friction.
Find a wall and care more about it than anything on or against it. If outdoors, gaze skyward until your perimeter drops to an ocular meniscus.
Make a small sound only you can hear.
Nod imperceptibly to all that’s not yet has always been here.
April 17, 2022
While headed towards a Chinese restaurant, I held my notebook tucked in between the warm fold of my arm. The notebook is a go-to object to grab when headed out the door on a solo excursion where I know I’ll be occupying a space meant for more folks than one.
Surely enough, I was sat at a four-person table in a packed place full of cheery, chatty citizens. I opened the brown, cloth-bound book and didn’t know what to scribble in the time before my tofu peppercorn dish would arrive.
Thinking of what to write had me writing down topics I could possibly write about. Here are those topics.
I’m also including a slurry of pending post titles to clean up my drafts folder. At one point I thought these words would spur well-wrought articles, but instead they’ve occupied a digital graveyard. In case they might be a source for future thoughts, I wish to preserve them—while not allowing them to crowd the sacred canvas, the digital abyss, the zero-bit brain bin dot txt.
What it means to break from comfort—and why it is the absolute most comfortable
Whether it is necessary to deviate from your authorial style after you are almost certain you have established one
What it feels like to imagine the magnetization of attention—and why it is a lie
Embarrassment toward certain potential writing subjects—and why those are the most authentic and therefore essential
Pseudo-intellectualism, uncertainty in one’s craft, and how to be sure you are not simply a savvy buffoon
Jealousy towards cheery people and how a single phrase can open wide the otherwise unaffected
The daunting thought that everything has already been written and you are wasting your words
Beach House, Bummly, Capitalization Crisis, Deletism, Discontent, Fructose, Giddy Prompts, Literary Blue Balls, Milk, Plants, Principles, Privacy, Self-discipline, Stingray, Superstition, The Horween Wrist Wrangler, Tiny Concerts, Ukrzaliznytsia
February 7, 2022
Burning daylight in the rambunctious underground rat hole. Squeezing cheese between teeth an swiping whiskers with microfiber. Artificial candle light licks dry eyes and withering thighs whip against wood grain chair seat. Billow blankets on unmade bed unlaid in with love twists. Fuzz fill the air, soften lungs and settle on coffee cup. Fill table book stack instead of books back to back with letter-shaped pen scrapes. Take a mad nap with a burlap sack stained with generated heat. Battle the bold outside winds wrapping tentacles of air into infinite curls between Twin Peaks perked up with the wealth of a hundred capital-craving captains of some unimaginative industry. Blend mold-bearing manuscripts of nature. Take tote bag out an open its folds to tug at the sun strings sapping from above. Suck in the entirety of every corona blast the size of Olympus Mons volcanic bursts down to match-stick miracles flicked on with a finger switch. The light is yours now!