Becoming a writer


What type of people decide to become writers? How much self-confidence does it take to decide one day: “I’m going to be a writer.” What level of self-indulgent satisfaction must one reach before they finally hit send; publish.

I imagine them jotting shit down at an elegantly disheveled desk. Writing with feverish intent and concentration. And not on a computer! With a pen. Just like in the movies. But who’s in the picture? Appears to be white dude in his 50s with a dad bod and greying hair. He wears stylish glasses.

Why does this image come most naturally to me?

I can’t compare myself to this portrait. I’m all over the place. But I like to think my mind has more in common with that dude’s desk than him: it’s messy. But full of curiosities and stories that might be worth organizing and sharing someday.

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zipping, unzipping
ripping apart
infinite lines
intertwine for some time

strangers pass
atoms nearly bounce,
a soft crash.

split seconds
locked eyes
reflect visions;
an eternity.

boy, don’t you see
divinity in split seams?
we avoided a difficult weave,
but our We existed.

keep walking
return your gaze to the ground

a moment that held
broken barriers
stillness and speed
fights and family
the final explosion.

each step forward
releases the tie
until we fray apart

I don’t remember
our time together,
but mine met yours.

Why I’m microdosing LSD

Externally everything seems fine. My appearance manifests itself as a relatively high functioning young adult who lives and works in Berlin.

But I’ve dealt with an unquiet mind all my life, and managing that has proven to be a difficult but beautiful journey. I’ve experienced and still work with anxiety, addiction, mood swings, a strange relationship with food, significant dips in motivation, obsessive tendencies, and self-harm in many intricate fashions. I have trouble admitting this sometimes, but other times, it’s crystal clear.

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