What are you even doing, Alex? What is this?

What is anybody doing? What is anything, really?

Sorry. I don’t mean to descend into nihilism so quickly, though I find it happens inevitably, eventually, inexorably, synonyms.

Writing is excruciating, particularly when reaching for a goal, when trying to direc the subconscious. It’s sometimes better to let it flow unencumbered.

This is a space where I can safely spew my nonsense, where I can play with words bereft of meaning, pre-cognitive, fingers dipping into the non-Newtonian goodness of the obscene. Attempting to cross the Bering Straight of the subconscious into the child-mind, Shunryū Suzuki’s beginner’s mind. Soshin. To swim in the not-knowing.

Just words. Written feverishly.

Watch me dip into the stream.

I love you.

What are you even doing, Alex? What is this?