Don't Want

There is nothing here. The well is dry and no amount of youtube clips are sparking anything, because the input from the outside is toxic. Childish Gambino on the headphones, eyes closed, listening to the swirling synths and hand clap beats.

I don’t want to do this tonight. I don’t want to make meaning or try to connect or inspire. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to write. I don’t want to reflect or feel or stay consistent or maintain this habit or continue playing this game. I don’t want. I don’t want anything.


I don’t want to be social or professionally developed. I don’t want to be seen or heard and understood. I don’t want you reading this or liking it or caring or wondering if I’m okay. I don’t want to be predictable or boring or interesting. I don’t want to make sense. I don’t want to teach or plan or meet or be present. I don’t want to run. I don’t want. I don’t want anything.

There is nothing here, but a looming Monday and the next day, the next week. And an uncertain future.