progress or decay - everything and nothing

A void of archived memories and blips of small logs.

Spent time – 15 minutes

10 November 2021

So here’s the thing. I’m not a writer, not able to pull the word rabbits out of no magical hats. I have bad spelling and the things I write on-page, is not what I am transcribing from my head at times. As in …. the words I think I’m writing is not how it is on paper.


I think I’ve rebooted multiple blogs. with the intention to write more.

I get really into making the site look the way I want it, and it becomes a task in itself to manage, that I drop all the plates that are spinning and walk away. Wiggle away, and curl into a ball. That ball then rolls down a hill of the mental dark forest of my mind. I bite into the black apple of depression and bathe in its glory. Black rain washes me away. A feeling that is familiar and destructive as I float back into the darken sea. staring with a deep pain in my chest. another chalk mark on the wall. Days since last depression mode 0.

There’s a new way of blogging, or generating content? It’s using blocks. Which I’ve grew to like, but not at the same time. I was born in 1988. Coming to the age of being of the old and new. Late to computers as I was in the poor demographic where we only could access it by public libraries and the list to get on a computer was too long. Big anxiety for my little brain.

Making a choice to write, at least 15 minutes a day. Here. Not thinking about grammatical structures and how things should be, but time to get words onto a page about how I feel at this moment and the thoughts that arrive at this moment. Not overthinking the way I do. I’ve also placed a 15-minute egg timer on. “It’s not bad” is A phrase I use way too often to become neutral. A neutral on the back fence. not making any stronger decisions in that moment, or in life. Just in a present limbo.

Grammarly helps me, but there are so many red lines for the words I’ve placed down.

So what now? continue on this path. They call it subconscious flow onto the page style of writing. Brain dump of words and journal-like entries. Could be something I like, perhaps? Likened to finding your own art style, we try find a writing style. I thought I had one, but how can one tell if they even do. I try to think I had one with my art. I kind of do, but also don’t. I love experimenting with new things as it keeps me interested. It also discouraged me – as with all new styles. It sucks at the beginning. for a long time. Not enough to master it. Not enough to keep it going; as the attention span wanes and depletes.


What kind of person are you Wayne? Do you look in the mirror and see a saviour or a false god?

Why do you keep the jars of kimchi in the fridge – unopened since the day you moved back into this city.

Does the morning run feel better, or is the preferred midnight run the one that brings more to your life?

How is your sleeping pattern, Wayne?

Describe this pen to me, and then sell me this Pen.

Questions for another day, another lifetime. Wayne.

3 minutes left

Damn that is a big block. how did I even do that

Oh the /

What? this is smaller.

> The end is nigh > > Somebody one told me.