it’s taking me forever to write things during this pandemic.
can i blame it?

am i getting old? have i lost it? is this it?

beck turned 50 yesterday.

this blue eyed child who when he was introduced via my SPIN magazine subscription he looked like a schoolboy.

how is he 50?

how does anything survive and not just bob in the water but

live?

i dont wanna just sit there and let the waves rock me around

a victim of the tides and the winds

i wanna be part of the current.

i wanna say we’re going this way.

i wanna say we’re not going that way.

beck didnt wanna whiteboy rap anymore so he didnt have to.

i have so much control over what i write and still

today every sentence was a struggle.

everything.

and i know what it was, i was trying to make it

you cant try and it wont make it.

its gonna be it no matter how much you futz with it.

i think it was shakespeare who said writing is like taking a dump, you can’t force it, you can’t will it

you just have to eat right, act right and marvel when it arrives fully formed and solid.

tennyson mighta said that, actually.

amber and i had our sixth anniversary from the first time we kissed today.

time flies when yr staring at the sun.