Hemmingway Flat
Experimental writing
Strip off sweat-soaked pants and shirt. Don’t bother finding new clothes. Too dark. Brush teeth. Slip the blanket around my shoulders. Chug water. Meditate. Write. Light candle. Make coffee. Naked. This is my new life.
Hemmingway flat. Just the facts. Read more Hemmingway.
Stripping language of emotion? Hormonal pajamas are easier. The decision is already made.
Twirling around the core of becoming. Little girl precious flicked from flower petal. Cock the pretty pistol. Ready. Aim. Fire.
How good’s your shot? Bullseye. First? Pocks in drywall.
Nail down the point. The point is the process. Messy. Unpredictable. Ugly. Dry humping in stiff jeans.
Remember?
I’m trying to find my voice again. It’s not the same as the first time I started writing. Or the second. Seven year cycles. My hair is different hair. My liver a new liver. My hands new hands. My words new . . .hair?
Rather than taking myself so seriously, I’m studying lyric essay here —>
. I don’t really even understand what a lyric essay is. I’m falling down a rabbit hole. Following the foxtail of curiosity. Reading. Sopping. Wondering what if.What if I let go of who I think I need to be? How I think I need to show up? What I think people want to hear? What I think I want to write?
What if I blow the chalk off the old green
start again from scratch?
Words are your art. Play with them❤️