On my sunday

I've been thinking about what makes me want to be a writer, and what I've come to realize is, it's the other writers. So many people I read are able to establish connections with both the fictional (or fictionalized real person) characters they write about, and relate this connection with the people who read it (for me anyway). So I figured if it's the writers then they must be reflected in my writing. So I pulled out my dog eared copy of poems by blake and got to reading. He was not angry, and was not especially sad. I say this knowing almost nothing of who he was. However the fact he's so good made me angry, and thus I desecrated a bunch of my older writing is inferior. I now greatly regret this. If I've ever given you a poem, I kept a copy. I no longer have these copies. If you have a copy, and you see it's not on my site please send it over to me as I now have no back catalog, and want to vomit over my drunken destructive stupidity. That's the last fucking time I try to read and abuse drugs at the same time.