who knew that this was going to be so hard? some days i read what i've written and it makes me feel accomplished, happy, secure. some days i think about what i've written and i know i've done something. sometimes, though, like today, i look at what i've written, old poetry, old stories, whatever, and i think that i have not an ounce of talent, not an ounce of reason, not an ounce of anything to say and i asked vicki about it and she told me that fiction doesn't have to be about anything, just write the story and your meaning, your form will come out, and i believe that, i do, but sometimes i write poetry and i'm pretty sure that i'm not very good at it and i should be okay with that but then sometimes i write poetry that feels so good to write and so good to read and it means something to the person or thing it's about so that should mean something, right? just because it belongs somewhere, it has a home, that should mean more than whether or not it's good. i think that's my main problem in life, i am more concerned with having a home than with my state of being and i don't think that's how it goes, i mean, maybe it does for art but for people? maybe there's more to people than homes. if i could, i'd write myself a home, but then we'd both be screwed because the writing would have a purpose and not a home, it'd be a home, and then i'd have a home but no purpose, because i'd have written purposeful somethings. goodness gracious, this is a difficult thing to write about because i don't know what the reason we write is. pardon that sentence. my spirit is easily squashed by 20 year old walt whitman freaks and that's not fair, he's not my fucking mentor, he's not a decision maker. he's not me. he's not even a matt donovan or a brandon bernard, someone who respects me and my art on separate pages. they like me in real life and they like me on paper, too. i just want to say what i want to say and not be worried about people saying i suck because for crying out loud, i'm not doing this for the good of somebody else, i'm doing it for the good of my soul and then on top of that, maybe some girl somewhere will read what i've written and say that she knows what i mean. that's really all. just relatability (is that a word?), relationability? relattionality? i don't know, but whatever, i want to connect. there's a reason for connection in most cases, and maybe i'm naive in my reasons or just plain immature but i don't think that should be reason to stop. screw the critics. it is not my fault, the youth of my writing: just as it is not my fault that i was born a fresnan or that i was born in 1981 or that i have a stupid picking disorder. i mean, i can move away from fresno and i can act older than i am or try to mature and learn and i can cut my fingernails down to the nub. i can do all of these things but let's be honest, time is the only healer of the laceration of art.
