I have my writers group tomorrow and I have nothing to read. It's like having nothing to wear only worse. I can only write crap when I write at all. Weird suicide/hit and run accident/cat abcess shit. For some reason.
My brother was here last weekend, my living brother. Well, I have an older brother too but I never speak to him. Anyway my California brother was here and I don't want to talk to him. I don't want to talk at all. It's like a locked up kind of box, a darkroom with the red light on and papers floating in developer only the images never show up. The paper stays blank. And there is water coming in under the door.
Maybe I can find a poem to bring to group from my secret blog which Rebecca found somehow. She is a genius, I think.