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My brain has lost a lot of muscle — almost like it slouches; has bad posture. It stands up straight, does a little bit of thinking, then goes back to being hunched over. Huge swaths of time are spent thinking very little of merit. The anxiety of city-live incentives us to shut down, dulls our mental acuity. It is easier to walk around in a semi-fog; a phone-fog; a state of fuck-all. But this morning I feel quite clear — quite awake. I have willed it; I want to keep willing it; I will the will to awareness. I fear lost and wasted time; I fear wasting the opportunity I have to really live and experience life poetically. I wonder if I’m still capable of it.
