I am in the center of noise, where it is static, blank, nothing. The pull of sadness is stronger than I am. The weight of my choices floods me with regret. I have nothing to look back on but loss, nothing to look forward to. I need to rest, to escape the spiteful murmurs of my mind. My fingers are stone, my heart decrepit. I threw myself away so long ago and cannot be found. I have shed my skin too many times, tried to believe I could be different. I have been kicked again and again by a reality only I am responsible for. I am tired. Too tired to write or think or speak. I remain lost, trapped, silenced.
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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