Fuck off big storm coming in tonight. I can't see anything through the windows but I can already hear it building and it's still six hours from its peak. Whipping the dark forest up into a white noise drone that fills the house. Deafening if you stand outside.

What if I never stop typewriting shitty cut-up poems? What if I become that weirdo who lives in the forest and speaks to stones and typewrites shitty cut-up poems?

What if I already am that person?