one_thousand_and_one ovenbird When confronted with what will not heal I make myself a surgeon. I lift a lance-like point to offending flesh and prepare to cut into pain’s origin, bracing for the hot sting of blade through skin. I open myself to the air and blood runs fast from the self inflicted wound. There are times when you must drive the blade under your nail to extract the source of infection, tear yourself apart before you can begin to sew your tattered edges back together. And that’s what I’ve done, here, one thousand and one paper cuts, words meant to trim away what has lain rotting under dirty bandages for decades, revealing the soft pink glow of something new. How raw I am and how amazed. As a child I told myself fantastical stories about the future, but none of them anticipated this particular now. I think this is just the beginning. One thousand and one ways of looking at a blackbird…and counting. 260215 what's it to you? who go blather from