i've been told time again that my blog has died, that it is now defunct, a barren wasteland of what used to be thoughts so cogent i could feel them condense in my head, the palpitations of their formation ticking like a little bomb. dynamite, that's what my thoughts used to be.

dynamite when they were created, dynamite when they were manifested.

it has been months since i last scrawled. things have changed since then. i've had to take responsibility and then evade it and then force myself to confront the fact that i am no longer a child and impervious to the clammy fingers of humanity. choices have been contemplated and made and unmade and remade and then forgotten, their consequences whisked into a bland batter, saturated with hardier, more potent ingredients.

i no longer write. i haven't written in ages. i feel/find words coagulate at my fingertips when they realise they have no place else to run. sometimes i think language is sentient; this is one of those evenings when i feel like i do not own myself.

i realise too many people i know read this blog, and then i stop.

i hear a metallic snip and know that the spark has died.

it's been a long time since i've written, so i'm going to start again tonight, and i imagine it's going to be a very polite discourse as to why i haven't been writing solely about my south american expedition since i've started it.

i just found out today that when you like someone - why does this sound so juvenile? it does sound like the sort of thing a 13 year old girl would say, doesn't it? - you turn other advances to you off, even anvil-sized ones. i guess one of the few things i truly regret is the fact that i once chose a clearly unsustainable relationship over a possibly much more fulfilling one due to naivete.

it's (all) sort(s) of depressing, really, when you think of what could just have been.