scatterscrap

progress has been stalled. things have been broken. blockage finally clearing. thinking of the onward motion, now. so sick of half-finished. time just keeps on with or without. everything has an ending point; it's a question of identification. pin it down. enough partial gestures. i don't know where i'm going, but i know it will happen.

tension weaves through the aisles in tangles today. it's seeping in. distracting and dismaying. it's not mine.

technically and conceptually inadequate for the projects at hand, is a persistent thought.

i wrote a letter to myself.

it takes all day, there are days inside days, never enough days, the days keep coming. seize the day, leave night to itself.

the pictures are in my head, i wonder if i'll have the time to devote to making it manifest. can i take the time? who does the time belong to? how much is mine? is anything mine?