On writing journal.

Started writing journal some time in last September. Almost a year has passed since then. There is so much in the journal now. So much. Most of it won't make sense to anyone who reads. So much is in there, and none of it would make any sense to anyone. Think about it. So many [...]

I am not.

I am not a poet. I know nothing of rhythm or rhyme or imagination. I am like Henry Miller. I am a talker and I talk through words. I hate my voice, those repulsive vibrations of my vocal cords. I would rather not speak. Ever. I would rather decay in my plastic chair on some [...]

From an afternoon bed.

Something from last night has my stomach crying. Must be the alcohol. Must be the bad food. Could be anything. Even the wind here can give me headache. I try to leave the bed but I keep failing. What's the joy in lying down. What's the joy in getting up. Hunger keeps a man going. [...]


idly rotating along with everything how beautiful - moon rising nobody else watching nights like these won't be coming from deep red to orange to the final golden the sound of water dripping from a pipe cool breeze accompanying I imagine your body over mine, crawling. Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

Without choice.

a bicycle came with its bells ringing I heard it having no choice the birds chirping before sunlight even started falling I heard it having no choice the motor running since yesterday night lifting water up over my head I heard it having no choice I played some jazz none of that could carry away [...]