1. Continuous Whining

Today is a repetition of the past hour. This week is a repetition of last week. And the week before. A perpetual cycle of negation. As I have already mentioned, it keeps proving harder and harder to find an alternative voice, to sort out a different persona for narration of experience--one other than my own. That habitual, personal cliché. That well-worn complaint.

It all comes down to the fact I have fallen out of my usual writing patterns. My usual ebb and flow of words. Too many distractions. Conflictions and obstacles. Mixed emotions. The fan buzzes overhead--managing to shift my attention span, cause a broad range of sleepiness, soft drone of electricity. As a purring. A pulse. Or your fingers slipping across my shoulders.

Even the fragmented imagery fractures in furious, odd patterns, out of sync with my primary intentions. The rhythm I mean is breaking lines into irregular, nonsensical phrases that do not relate to one another directly.

End result: feel the need for insistent, continuous whining.


leftover sandwich: warm roast beef on slices of toasted wheat, hot mustard; eating in winter sunlight


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