thought knot = 1
else under the influence of champagne = 1
then head=cooked <>Rumi = 1;
you finally believe you’re a writer when…
a well written sentence feels like the after shocks of an orgasm
you run downstairs, electric toothbrush in hand, nasty foam dripping down your chin because inspiration is at defcon 5.
you hoard words like accretion, antelucan, and agon knowing deeply that you’ll never use them
you throw out good stuff because you’re only ever happy with great stuff
you want to be 1/3 of your characters, you want to kill 1/3 of your characters and you’d like to consume the last 1/3 with a passion that gave rise to the word “fuck” .
you read this and want to go smoke a cigarette.
in case anyone finds themselves in need of an opossum, we have an extra one living in our gas grill.