today i deleted.

i don’t feel bad, and you should know that. it helps our fictitious relationship because you, dear reader, are not really there, and so won’t have noticed.

i told myself when beginning, that i should write unconditionally and without reprieve or remand; ie, no shame, awareness, and no [del].

but then i also told myself that i wouldn’t be self-referential, not through an avoidance of the first person (we are all that person), but through a blindness to the presence of the format, a willingness to circle the voice.

perhaps i have achieved that, not through discipline, but through some form of vagueness and an ambiguity that exposes these thoughts for the vessels they are.

kill me if i write, kill me if i don’t. the best thing is that i can’t see you.


2 Responses to “[del]”

  1. solipsistic soliloquy!

  2. Still you need the write. The urge to write is a blessing, is a curse. It’s the footprints of the soul that never is, but always will be, so the prints get lost in the oblivion of other souls refusing to drown in the same.

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