Greetings beautiful tribe of blog and clan of cultness.
Believe it or not. When I’m not splashing intimate details of what goes on in my distant mind on a daily basis – I’m actually quite a private person.
Here’s a few things I’ve been up to over the past 72 hours:
I listened to this track on repeat and wrote love poems. I went to a work function and nearly fell off a bench out of sheer clumsiness and will have to endure “man how many did you have?” jokes for longer than I’d like to imagine. I’ve been going to the gym a lot. I washed the puppies and shined their fur with mandarin/lavender conditioner. I went to the market, smiled at farmers, and bought too many parsnips than I probably need. I rode my bike down by the river; ate a few pieces of delicious chocolate; spent time lying in Melbourne’s autumn sun.
All of these pieces of life are simmering in my belly, tiptoeing across the back of my subconscious. Sooner or later they’ll form a phrase on a page.
Summed up, I guess over the past three days I’ve been doing all I know how to do.
Being a Writer.
Most people who I interact with on any given day know nothing about my ink obsession. I often hear the word “blog” come across in random conversation and I’m still not sure what that means. To me it’s a term that gives Writers a bad name and creates occasional traces of snob in the Art form.
Good thing I’m too occupied meditating and contemplating life in outer space to become caught up in all of that… x o x