This blog is the nothingness into which I will scream and spit and swear as I write my first novel. I am 44 years old. I have written many poems. I think two of them were good. When I say good, I mean not toilet paper, strictly speaking. I have taken several whacks at the same book. Each time I’ve gotten a third of the way in and found myself lost. This blog is not about that book. Fuck that book. Fuck it hard and don’t buy it dinner but maybe come back to it one day because of masochism.