so, i had written A WHOLE bunch of stuff in here, saying a lot of stuff that had to be said – to myself, sure – with highly poetics descriptions of my dreams and nightmares and stuff (like hair silently dancing in the water and my cat with a nasty and aggressive voice), and about me breathing, and about me coping, and about all that stuff, and thanks to wordpress, i’ve lost it all.

i could say that i’d keep to paper and pen, but i’ve also lost my notebook – bought in argentina and with a lot of also insightful stuff. why? why do i lose this? when i’ve never lost this kind of stuff before? oh man, it’s just painful. it’s painful because part of me is in these stuff. i put myself in them. i really do. writing for me is visceral, even though i know that what i write is shit for other people. but so is my spit, you know, when i spit, it’s gross, but i put myself in that spit, and with my words i spit my very own soul.


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