The laptop is my torch. It replaces big lands of the west, kicking up dust in bland blinding cloudless form. Darkness settles down and up and down from the studio window in the fallout of the train yard steady with it holding failures and empty threats and raw footage of hope and letters to lovers and queer stories of boys looking for love as desperate and honest as bandits. The biggest lesson is that this is possible. Sweet poverty. Love poverty and water thickens. Give away what can’t be kept and walk light with what comes. Ask for nothing, receive nothing. Make what is true what to the birds is true. Accept the dirty boundless mean of flat borders and electronic blue. And write it all down, prose and poems and stupidity like laughter. The lord they say will come and scoop it up, use what is given, ask for nothing, speak.
One year ago tonight I met my lover and one year since that night I leave her.
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