the trouble with calendars

I tried to make a calendar for more consistent writing and, somehow, writing become the "least necessary" item on that list. Too often, breakfast was also too low on that list.

And while I might be back to eating breakfast--most of the time--writing has been harder to fit in. Drawing, less possible. Luckily, I have some good people who find me when I need them to find me:

Out of nowhere, about eight years since seeing each other, an old schoolmate emailed me about her writing blog and suggested I get on board. The idea of it alone made me spend the early morning, before work, writing.

The image we'll be reproducing in chalk this July!

Mike Mills, cover drawing for Relax magazine, 2002

Sheena found a chalk art project in Elmira, right about the time my daily drawings stopped being daily.

It's a small mind blow at least to think that these people somehow knew to reach out, knew that I needed some pushing.

thank you handsome coffee roasters!

This was delicious boys! And I hope my stamped stick is a decent thanks...if I drank the bag, I'd feel compelled to whittle for sure.

writing into something

Even outward of my hips, the leg recalls limping across the sea, longing for low and hollow sounds like urchins might make. After islands appeared, the compass showed and my head looked up. Sky, that day, seemed to be less than distant. There's still a feeling of being crushed, still anxiety regarding the possibility of sky matching shore. Even, of being upside down. And all these inside thoughts near open windows, and still the sky is bright. When I move towards outward, towards someone else, it seems he slowly moves further, moves towards sycamore or bird, something casting a shadow. The way he moves away, the way I stay in one position for more than an hour lures me towards sleep. Towards the way my brain folds memory over memory.