Barbaric Yawps
Days, years pass. I've kept silent for a while, closing myself off--in large part due to forced online social exposure for "jobs" breeding a rabid desire for privacy at all costs. Now, I've had the brunt of my work forcibly stripped away from me due to a new diagnosis, and I find myself missing something. And so I find words again. Words that burn. And I find moments to rest and plan and dream. And then I take the time to mourn. I mourn that my photos app is now filled with pictures of treadmill statistics and pictures of meat labels so that I can track the prices. The hallowed place that I used to document beauty and wildjoy life has become a functional reduction. It's been simmered down to a folder of documents and digits to "help me remember." What to remember, though? Remember the meat prices? Remember that I'm making healthy progress after 20 years of chronic inflammation? Yes. But it cou...
