I SIT ON MY PERCH AND LOOK DOWN UPON THE WORLD
That would be one epically high perch. Need I say, you don’t have a perch?
I am not a fan of I, the word that is—I need to vent.
The wind blasts. My hair flutters. My hair is shorn, there is no flutter.
I am a story cobbler: real stories, often imagined, sometimes non, blended, an unfurling of my soul.
They now belong to you. I lay bare. I’m vulnerable.
I want to share humour, but a virus strikes. A fucking virus strikes.
I want to be bold, but I fear for my livelihood.
I share this because it is all I know. I want us to come together, to relate, to cry, to laugh, to sing, to cringe, to be more.
This is a collection of essays’ - often atmospheric, ephemeral, real.
This jumps from thought to thought to thought and comes back to whole again in a single line.
This is you. It’s me. It’s her. It’s him. It’s all.
This is angry, unyielding, punishing, hilarious, visceral—relentlessly weird, dramatic.
I want to cry. I do.
I want to love. I do. I’m grateful it is returned.
This is a revelation, a scrapbook of my mind, my life, the lives of others. I want this to be boundless, limitless, cleansing, freeing.
This is a hug + a kiss + a laugh + a reason to turn to the next page.
This is called life.
That would be one epically high perch. Need I say, you don’t have a perch?
I am not a fan of I, the word that is—I need to vent.
The wind blasts. My hair flutters. My hair is shorn, there is no flutter.
I am a story cobbler: real stories, often imagined, sometimes non, blended, an unfurling of my soul.
They now belong to you. I lay bare. I’m vulnerable.
I want to share humour, but a virus strikes. A fucking virus strikes.
I want to be bold, but I fear for my livelihood.
I share this because it is all I know. I want us to come together, to relate, to cry, to laugh, to sing, to cringe, to be more.
This is a collection of essays’ - often atmospheric, ephemeral, real.
This jumps from thought to thought to thought and comes back to whole again in a single line.
This is you. It’s me. It’s her. It’s him. It’s all.
This is angry, unyielding, punishing, hilarious, visceral—relentlessly weird, dramatic.
I want to cry. I do.
I want to love. I do. I’m grateful it is returned.
This is a revelation, a scrapbook of my mind, my life, the lives of others. I want this to be boundless, limitless, cleansing, freeing.
This is a hug + a kiss + a laugh + a reason to turn to the next page.
This is called life.
