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manifest press

blog title stolen from a comic that i really dislike.

last night i got in a long overdue phone call that really gave me some juice. when i hung up the phone i got on the bus and had dinner at a house that reminded me of home. spent hours with ladies and beer and show-and-tell, got to a place i hadn’t been in ages.

i’ve resisted writing about anything but my “work” on here, but i think that the clear distinction between “work” and everything else is pretty untenable. at least in my former uu/evergreen/weirdo life. it also feels like a waste to not think of my life as a poem.

frequently i overwhelm people, freak them out with my emotional honesty. whatever. i feel a lot. i think a lot. i spill a lot. i get excited about people and ideas and the ideas of/from people. i’m not very interested in superficial relationships. i have a lot of very close friends, and the way i structure my relationships allows for a lot of blurry lines between traditional relationship roles, but when you say to someone you just met “i really really like you” and they can tell you mean it, that you desire some sort of intimacy, something else goes along with it. some nebulous (and often terrifying) idea of what you expect from them.

how do we know that we know what we know?

what do we do when we come up against this nebulous idea?

it is too hard for me to write a coherent blog about something i have so many incoherent thoughts on…

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