I keep circling ideas, until they let me in.
prose, essays, narratives — depends what mood I was in.

small things I remember too clearly, for no good reason.
small, vivid, and absolutely out of order.

things I want so earnestly it’s almost embarrassing.
in another life where I am less me, I do all of this.

watching myself think and taking notes like it’s someone else.
quietly feral.

today, sort of — as best as I can manage it.
timestamp unreliable.