floating snips

if writing is the search for shape and meaning in life

is must be a selective one

the truth is full of distraction and laziness, napping in the face of urgency
forgetting oneself and remembering again and hiding from that truth

accepting maybe but celebrating nonsense?  what is self anyway these ais have me questioning
if i am a self or just generating text
there is some inner thing
but it varies 'i contain multitudes' indeed but many are quite prosaic and merely hungry

luckily friends remember
perhaps its why we want to be seen