come back to it.
come back to the bleeding? no, no thanks.
no, come back to this.
i don’t think so. i don’t think i can anymore.
why?
because all writing is desire, it is longing, it wishing for things that are not there.
so?
so? and there’s too much here. there’s too much here to abandon and there’s nothing to want.
there’s nothing missing?
no, there isn’t. there’s simply too much living to be done.
that’s horseshit.
no, it is-
it’s utter horseshit and you know it. you’re undisciplined and lazy and afraid. cut the bullshit out and come back to the fold.