sometimes the place where all the good stuff is fermenting is empty
the moths are dead at the bottom
the gnats are long gone
even the dust has found a better place to settle.
sometimes you look back in your online web log to see what you were doing 10, 11, 12 years ago and of course you were raising your fist at authority, screaming at the shadows, banging at the door
dancing in the tournefortia.
oh to be young and beautiful again. oh to have the adoration of thousands.
bring be back to the days before facebook and twitter and paypal and instagram.
back when blogs roamed the earth and ideas flowed as freely as love.
remember when nba cheerleaders and their sisters would camp out waiting for their favorite blogger to get home from the busstop?
remember how the southern girls would type letters in their bathtubs, ink smearing, misspelled words typed over with hashtags
letters sealed with lipstick and drawings, phone calls with drawlings.
thats where the well is.
gurgling well well well
whispering al gore
coughing up dust
ask the dust
it’ll tell u