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I need an answer!

Ok, I need to know: is it just me, or do writers in general tend to end up with more little piles of paper around the house than most people? Every freakin' time I turn around, there's yet ANOTHER papery tower staring at me. Yes: STARING. With staring papery eyes. And it's not just bills: there's manuscripts, contracts, magazines, print-outs from the intarwebs, newspapers, and other sundry and various things that just seem to show up to party with all the other paper items. And if I even attempt to touch one pile, they all slide to the floor and scatter to the four corners of the apartment like it's 52-pickup time, and I'm down on my hands and knees chasing after this shit like I have nothing better to do with my time than roll around in giant stacks of possessed ephemera.

I. HAVE. FUCKING. HAD. IT. AAAAAAAIIIIIEEEEEEEEE!!!!!

::gets garbage can, tire iron, whiskey, matches::

Marine Autumn

I owe you marine autumn
With dankness at its roots
and fog like a grape
and the graceful sun of the country;
and the silent space
in which sorrows lose themselves
and only the bright crown
of joy comes to the surface.

--Pablo Neruda.


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