sunday mornings filter in like frozen sunlight. sunday mornings are always sad. i wake up and regret everything i didn’t do, before nicely counterbalancing the same with horrible embarrassment for everything i did.
but the good thing is that it crumples me up so much all i can do is write my way straight again. like being cornered by shadows. and so, this morning and afternoon i’ve sat in last night’s clothes, remnants of make-up, curtains drawn and monitor on, and i’ve almost finished a first draft of the second story of my next collection.
the collection is about love, mostly, and how my trademark sociopathic characters – with their grammatical dissonance and brutalist short sentences – fail to procure it.