Self-Crafting on Chambord

Okay. SO here I am again. And barely removed (but SO removed) from what I was reading a few years ago (with the delicate addition of Chambord). But the stripes are bolder but hidden. I'm in a bigger room, but still alone. Free? Less so? More responsible... In a good way-- one that's wiser.

But then why am I still acting like a fuck-up and photographing it to boot!?! (Because I have no spectators.).

It's all for posterity. Like "Madame fuck-face" tossed into jail during the Reign of Terror... Why can't I remember her name right now? Anyway, my hand hurts. Too much to write right now...

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Adding drugs to the mix.

Writing high is much harder that writing just drunk or depressed. Things don't seem to flow as well. Everything is stuck and creaky. Let me persist-- what is wrong with me? What am I pursuing here? Self-crafting. I think it's ALL about self-crafting.

Do you know what I mean? That's what B took from me... My ability to DECIDE who I am. That's what was so weird with those old journal entries .

And for once, I'm trusting the pen again.

I miss you.