I wanted to write big. 

Not just marker pen big, the kind of big that overgrows the page so every letter was eating away at the boundary and into a readers mind. 

But it seems that my eyes are failing me. Now it is a strain to write at all and my left eye has a large blot in the field of view. 

I wanted to be big, but how people are overcome with words that escapes me. 

I wish I had a course to run with a jockey and blinkers,
To think less on running or who spurs.
How long will this black spot dog me.
I would that it might tag and release easily.
Rather my body is nearly drowned in the inkwell
Ànd in haste to expell it I blot and spill and spoil.


So perhaps it’s better not to focus on who I’m not for now and try and get through without any affectation. Just saying. Better to do than to get bored with thinking of what’s not going right for now. 


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