For the past month or so, every time I get on the computer, I find myself avoiding the link to this blog; I am twisted up with guilt at not having written and in despair over feeling like I don’t have a damn thing to say. Perhaps this is the plight of the writer and I just need to roll with the punches, or maybe I am a lazy fuck who is terrified that if I actually keep writing I might have more to say than I ever imagined. I know I want to be more and do more and yes yes yes, write more. So why do I avoid my own blog? Why do I consume bowls of popcorn instead of write each day? Why do I fear my own voice and keep myself tucked away in the silence? Not every post has to be genius and not every sentence has to be perfectly choreographed; it just has to be honest and it has to be me.
I am a writer, going blind in Los Angeles. This blog is my story of a slow approach to darkness as I traverse through the rubble of urban life. It is what I see in the withering spaces of my remaining vision. It is humor and despair and darkness and light. It is what I witness as the world slowly disappears.
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