Every piece of writing is unjust, petty, a revenge. Who are we to state the obvious? In obvious states claim otherwise? The other side: silent. Arguing back a time it all seemed at standstill. A stencil of hope, a slice of pretext, back when it all seemed oh-so writable. Stepping backward into the same stream of thought you thought was thought-through and over. And now here you are – so unfair again, so verbal again, the tactic all syntactic. A phase, you’re sure, a li’l pressure on the tip of the pen. Here you go, then, ready to murder again. So kill.
Good to see you writing here again!