Fuck.Fuck.Fuck...Fuck my life.

I want to be a writer! I have so much going on in my head and life that's worth writing (and reading) about. Yet, while I can write well, I can't translate that stuff into a plot worth pursuing.

"But you - you go ahead, go on, go on back down into the graveyard, lie down where you think their faces are; talk back to your old bad dreams." - Anne Sexton

“I have been in Sorrow’s kitchen and licked out all the pots. Then I have stood on the peaky mountain wrapped in rainbows, with a harp and a sword in my hands.” —Zora Neale Hurston

“The purpose of art, including literature, is not to reflect life but to organize it, to build it.” —Yevgeny Zamyatin (The Goal, ca. 1926)

“I took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart. I am. I am. I am.” —Sylvia Plath

“Wanted: a needle swift enough to sew this poem into a blanket.” —Charles Simic

“Language is a cracked kettle on which we beat out tunes for bears to dance to, while all the time we long to move the stars to pity.” —Gustave Flaubert

“Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It’s that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that’s what the poet does.” —Allen Ginsberg

“Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.” —Carl Sandburg