Enough with short stories! I’m finally getting some momentum on editing my longer works and moving toward them being ready to submit somewhere. My optimistic goal is to have both my novel and novella ready to send places before winter is over.
Very optimistic, I know…
You are awesome, even when you feel alone or sad or in pain. Don’t let fear stop you from reaching out to a friend for a conversation when you need one. The person you reach out to just might need to talk themselves, too…
Life isn’t easy. Life often sucks. You don’t have to force a smile and play pretend when you feel like giving up. Let someone know. More people care about you than you think.
And when someone pings you on whatever messenger with a simple hello or ‘hey what’s up?’ remember that they might be in need of friendship just as much as you are on your worst days.
There are hands around you waiting to be grasped. You don’t have to float through life alone.
The idea of dying, and being gone forever, never existing again, is scary. But the idea of always existing, forever, with no end no matter what you do, is pretty horrible too.
Maybe humans fear/are repelled by ideas of the infinite because everything we know is finite. Would experiencing something infinite relieve that fear? Maybe, but how to do that…
Sometimes I see someone with a certain head shape and become very conscious of their skull moving around beneath their flesh. What strange bags of meat and bone we are.
Everything that makes you you, is electricity flashing in a few pounds of water and fat, balancing precariously on a pedestal of collagen and calcium.
Maybe the way we decorate our soft machines shouldn’t be so important…
Somewhere, there is a tree growing which will some day be cut down and made into your coffin.
No one will ever truly know you, but you.
The person you love most in the world has secrets they will take to their grave, kept even from you.
The things people do for love, when done for any other object or reason, are called either addiction or mental illness.
Eating dead animal parts is really weird if you think about it too much.
You have no choice but to believe in free will.
You won’t remember reading this post a few years from now. How is that different than never having read it?
Is so very hard to find sometimes. There is no clear path to success, no obvious next step. Everything must be done with the high likelihood that it is a complete waste of energy and time.
I sometimes feel like I’m in a vacuum. That, or one tiny voice in a howling hurricane made of other people.
Will anyone notice if I stop? Does anyone know I’ve started?
Okay, that’s enough melancholy for the week…
Sometimes it feels like I am one… do I have any effect on anything? Can anyone hear me, see me? Will anyone read anything I write? There can be an impulse to do something crazy, absurd, drastic–just to see if anyone notices you are there. To see if anyone looks up from their phone for a moment. To see if it’s possible to leave the railway you’re rolling down and go in some unpaved direction. But can it be done? Or are we set to ride the tracks set out before us all the way to our grave?