Sometimes I take to Tumblr and scroll down rapidly. I give each photo post about .2 seconds, each text post about .5, and I go down, and I go down, and I go. A friend of mine fills himself up on poetry until he’s about to pop and has to let some back out again. I almost never read fiction before I write fiction. No. I turn on my music, a delicate mix of songs I know backwards and songs I don’t know at all, and then I blaze my mind out with overstimulation. I read no fiction, no poetry, I pause to reflect on no brilliant artwork or phrase or gif or political cause, I get the lightest of touches on the shoulder from all of these things begging for my attention, and when I can finally ignore them all, when I have convinced myself that there is too much in the world to care about right now, then I can let go. Then I can submit to the reality of humility. 

Tell me, brain. Go ahead and describe to me what you see, when I finally convince you you’re not everywhere, everything.

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