The editing page reminds me that I began this draft on 08/30/18, and true to my sputtering fashion, The-Two-Year-Mark has come and pass, and here we finally are.
To be rid of one’s own words, to be at the end of one’s own wits.
The interior of some pages will be with me forever, I just have to meet them first.
What is a life? A series of yeses and noes, photographs you shove in a drawer somewhere, loves you think will save you but that cannot. Continuing to move, enduring, not stopping even when there is pain. That’s all life
“the world” is not an entity and it is never unified in a singular way “against” you as an individual. Anyone who tries to tell you otherwise is not a friend.
It is, thus, discontinuities, the great discontinuities in life, that we seek to bridge, or reconcile, or integrate, by recollection, and, beyond this, by myth and art.
Invest in things that have the capacity for growth.
In the history of life, no gene has ever been expressed in the absence of environmental influences. These environmental influences, in turn, come in two distinct but interacting types: a genetic environment created by the unique combination of fifty thousand
…and during no time of the year am I reminded as much than in the spring and summer.
“My mother, Teddy Hedges, a professor of English, imparted to me a love of books and writing. She was the first one to publish my work, in a booklet she typed and bound when I was a child.” – Chris