Just write.1 Why don’t you begin again?2
Ugh, the strength of resistance that I’m feelin’ dawg. The writing that’s sitting in between artistic forces and the workforce. Sitting between the migrane between the brows, I pluck 90’s thin, that … *rolls eyes* that misses a good $15 threading by a Middle Eastern woman who knows how to pull up my soul that pull up my brows, that pull up my breasts with her bare teeth. God I miss the practice of ritual3 service exchange. I miss not penny pinching on the aesthetics.
Bitch I’m tired. The thirst trappings are barley quenching, but I’m still finding some sort of well to draw out of? Yes I am.
My friends, their writings, their musings, their workings. My sisters, my brothas, the fam. The krewe.
Days spent working, laboring, tarrying in Zoom rooms. 30 mins on 30 mins off. Finding pockets of genius with Mariah. James, I’m trying to keep up with the costs to be the boss over here with Brittany and Liz; but even the funk couldn’t have prepared me for the toll. The writing is paywalled behind the erection of Le Cabinet Noire, Atlanta’s newest rental haus for artistry and creativity. The writing is waiting for the place to be filled with creation and development4.
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