creative non/fiction.

did you know there is a genre of writing called creative nonfiction. I think if i were to dream about becoming a writer, which i do, i would dream of writing creative non fiction.

I have been toying with the idea of learning how to be a journalist. Then i can do research that people actually read-watch-listen instead writing things for dusty libraries or the endless labrynth that is the internet.

there is a trick to learning the right amount of time to spend with yourself in silence and how much you need to go out and move your feet and let your lips tell stories and your ears take in the absurdities that are our neighbors realities.

it is a a strange thing to wake up in the middle of winter, on a day when the weather is below freezing to a room beaming full of sunlight, literally hot like a solar powered oven. i am baking here in my sleep, hidden under blankets just to keep the mositure in. i want to wear shorts and see my knobby knees. I want spring and every morning is misleading.

i went to a contact improvisation class-this is a kind of contemporary dance for those of you who dont know. She taught in english for me and she asked if you call the the thing on the back of a snail a house. You do? Dont you? the floor is an unforgiving dance partener.

I have had a cough I havent been able to kick for weeks. for some reason the goo is sticking to the inside of my lungs. stubborn. i imagine the goo growing inside, multiplying. I dont believe that is actually what is happening, but I am not sure any longer how to get rid of it. If only i had a turkey baster maybe I could suck, slurp, it out of there. ew.

this is the parliment in Budapest. It sits on a very large river. 

well. it. time to try to do some work.