fragments from the threshold

I don't tidy the words that land here. They arrive half-dressed, still breathing, sometimes trembling from the truth that pulled them out. This isn't a blog.  It's a record of what the body knows before language catches up.

Some entries end mid-sentence.  Some repeat themselves. They're not mistakes; they're traces.  Evidence of a life still mid-transmission.

You're welcome to stand inside them - not to analyze, but to feel what's trying to become.  

enter with reverence; leave with residue