thirteen days without writing and finally something is slowly coming. Wrapped myself in professionalism only to realise, again, a job is good only if it allows me to live. By live, I mean write and think and dream. In other words lose my mind. A good stream of books words thoughts. Teaching EFL can deaden my awareness. Or strip it. I am not sure how to proceed. Still feeling cut-off from an artistic and intellectual community. But A good Internet connection and a small library could solve a lot. Or alleviate a bit. Or bring back.
I am fighting for fire. For wildness. For wilderness.
A first generation American with a sense of rootlessness. Ulster Scot. Unsettled. Wandering. Not a citizen of America. But broke my teeth on poetry in America.
I am at least 72.5% American now!