tiny books and booklets
and notebooks and scraps of paper
and bound and unbound pages
everywhere
everywhere
everywhere
what will i ever do with all these writings?
[what will i ever do with this digital equivalent as well?]
writing about writing
July 11, 2026
the writing this morning is coming along
slowly
i’m writing at a fine pace
but my brain is having a hard time catching up
and accepting the words i’m
placing down
i don’t feel slow
i feel
segmented
the fingertips will make a decision
and the brain won’t get involved
until the eyes finally look and read
and then the brain says
“hell no”
and we start all over again
with new words
new topics
new fingertips leading this time
how am i supposed to get morning poetry done
in these conditions?
July 8, 2026
writing has always been how i
come to terms with my emotions
even before i wrote poetry every morning
i would analyze things through personal essay
and even before i was intrigued by a writing major
i was writing-creating things
constantly:
scenes
lists of characters
concepts
a single piece of dialogue
just a whole bunch of names i loved
while those might not be the
standard journal-to-figure-out-ones-feelings kind of writings
i think they were my way of figuring things out
in my brain — lists to organize the chaos
constantly thinking in theatre
ideas upon ideas upon ideas
maybe that’s what i should do as a writing challenge;
find one of the concepts i created as a child
and see how far i get in the process of fully committing to it
and creating it
and making it come to life as a fully fleshed-out piece
[whatever kind of writing that may be]
as an adult…
that could be fun…!
June 27, 2026
writing before 7
writing before i’m fully awake
writing before breakfast
before coffee fully takes effect
before i know what my mind is doing this day
but i also know
later today
i’ll have no desire to write
or
the desire will be there
but the motivation
the actually action
will cease
so morning writing it is
with its
imperfections
and sleepy word choices
and distractability
at least i’m sitting here
writing
that’s more than i can say for
the rest of my day
June 25, 2026
i wish i could think of all the words i can’t think of right now
i wish i could recall all the vocabulary that’s in my head
but they’re stuck behind sticky mind-doors
where the mental wood has warped over the years of trauma
and protecting myself against trauma
the maze in my mind
simply to find
a fucking synonym
is atrocious
[i measure out how detrimental it is to the poem
if i should sit and think, and perhaps get lost in my own thoughts
or stop and look it up on the internet, and thereby lose the spell i cast
on my own poetry being sans-internet-influence,
or ask my kip
or set a reminder to go back and check
at a later time…
usually i set a reminder in the way of brackets around one word
and hope i can find the exact alternate
i thought i could think of
at the time of writing]
June 18, 2026
beautiful words
about ugly things
i wish i could write like my thoughts were cursive
calligraphy
a cartography of trauma set in gorgeous handwriting
but i’m a type-writer
printed and sure
un-erasable blank ink holding
my most ephemeral thoughts
not beautifully tragic
but solidly uncertain words
in the most permanent of ways of writings
we use today
[but nothing will survive the heat death of dominicus
right?]
June 17, 2026
it’s always so fascinating to me
watching my poetry
slide from one subject matter
[an introductory topic, if you will]
into the underlying
what-it’s-really-about
as if my conscious brain
*almost* gets it
but *always* needs to let the
subconscious brain take over
to get to the heart of the matter
[and if i try to control too much —
with form or function or rhyme or
look — the underlying message can’t come out;
or still does, but ruins whatever basis i had
laid out] and this pattern, of
almost-but-not-quite-knowing what my poetry will really
be containing, is like watching a movie of your own life
in front of you — you know what it was like behind your eyes
but from this third-person vantage, it’s all a little off
a little wild
a little unsettling in its
potential comfort,
but still entertaining
because of the new
perspective
that’s what my morning poetry is like
for me, most
mornings
June 16, 2026
writing in a way that felt hard
but turned easy
because i [apparently] have
a lot
to say
[the hj story]
May 22, 2026
write
and write
and write and write and write
until you’ve exorcised all the demons
inside your own mind
May 9, 2026
it’s always
so interesting
when the poems i start to write
are not
the poems that end up
written
kipventures 