Everything I say is hollow,

marrow dry,

brittle bones break.

Let’s all shuffle our feet so we can hear some humanity.


I once heard the lines, “He’s stuck at 3:14 a.m. with only the moon to talk to.”*


I’m stuck.


If I knew how to talk I would,

but that’s a whole lot of unlearning—

we are ill-equipped communicators.

I’d swear I was born a mute

if the sound of my own voice didn’t frighten me.

Let’s start at the beginning:






*Credit to Miranda July, discussing the process of writing her screenplay for The Future


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