Wednesday, February 17, 2016. So I probably said this ages ago when I used to write properly but a lot of what I write just pops into my head randomly and I am compelled to write it. I truly hope to never feel that way again. Fear lances through my heart. Squeezes my chest in an iron-barbed grip. I have no control of this situation. Tears streaming down my face.

Dreaming words of caressful emotions. Drawn from this pool of expanding visions. You are my guide as you have been before. Only unknown in your existence. Until I found this memory. Which you have touched with your own hands. That you the Prophet has written. And placed in the path of my destiny.

Words that appeal to the senses. Putting how I feel each day. On paper, keeps me in. I use my pen and pad. Watching my inner most thoughts. Fill up the computer screen. Eases my worries and burdens. And cursing out all the people. It helps when I want to empty. My pounds of emotional baggage.

In his new book, Matthew Dickman confronts a world in which God is everywhere and nowhere. Randall Horton thinks about the ways we trap ourselves and others in boxes. From the current issue of. Cardi B Tells Me about Myself. Dear Frustrated in Flatbush,.