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What do you call a writer who doesn't? I don't know either. Bogged down making words for social media, SEO and the small screen, I'm producing this post, and possibly some others, as a type of grease to keep the writing wheels turning, the gears grinding. Consider it a diary of sorts. A traditional blog, if you will, harkening back to the joy of the early aughts and the freedom that came from being allowed to burble any old crap onto the screen in the certain knowledge that only a tiny group of people would ever read or judge it. Long sentences! Sub-clauses with commas! Serif fonts! An undistinguished visual design. Fuck yes. I can already feel myself relaxing into a warm tub of zero expectation. The hero or patron saint of this blog for 2019 is the photographer Peter Beard . Honestly, I want to take that man out to dinner and listen to everything he might spill, as if he was the fucking oracle at Delphi. He knows how to live properly and fully inside his own house

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