Quiet Lines
A low hum underneath loud cracks. Deep pressure pockets skin tectonic joints. Tiled ceilings tuned to flourescent bulbs in an ominous B-flat rattle the glass above and my skeleton below. The fault lines begin to show. I can hear them whisper, the quiet lines, in the undertow as they grind my bones.
kast/press update:
Apologies, y’all, for the lack of communication. It was not my intention to do the football thing—where we have to start and stop a whole bunch before anything happens. This summer has not worked out in any way that I wanted. I wanted to finally finish reading “In Cold Blood.” I wanted to start a new series, or at least be way farther along on the research phase. I wanted to have submitted to a magazine that I had planned for. The list goes on…
None of the above happened. But a whole bunch of other stuff did happen andwork out.
Therefore, I am trying desperately to take all of this one day at a time. So, with that in mind and my schedule growing more in alignment with what I want, here are the goals in the coming weeks with kast/press:
Scales will go biweekly for now. That’s right, we’re slowing the already slow story down.
Poems will still be weekly.
Once that hits my brain in a way that is manageable again, I will look at getting the other series off the ground! Now would be a beautiful time to consider upgrading to a paid subscription, as I have no plans on putting my content behind pay walls or archive walls and the extra monies is super helpful to me.
However, as I always say, do not give what you do not have. I have no illusions of earning my rent on this platform, but my phone bill would be cool.
This place operates as more of a holding cell and a holding of accountability. I don’t intend for all of this work to remain online only.
I hope you’re enjoying the journey, little ghosts. Thanks for taking the river with me on this slow ferry ride.
I cannot express to you how much I hate the word “journey.”
Glad to be on this healing journey with you 🫠🤛🏻