A Turbulent Stream of Consciousness You Didn’t Ask For

I’ll never draw lines or make tables with my good pen. There are special projects that warrant the use of good ink. Copying an already crafted poem onto “good paper” is worth it, but creativity that might end nowhere is not.

I have endless systems to contain and manage everything. There are notebooks reserved for completed works and finished thoughts and there are piles of scrap paper for ideas that don’t hold enough promise.

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