Why I blog about writing and issues of mental health

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Why I blog about writing and issues of mental health
(for Ambronese)

    J had schizophrenia. I was
    bipolar. I told myself that I

was in love with translating the language of

    desire. Wings of desire. I was a
    “war” kind of anything. A war
    horse found in the desert. The
    origin of Paris was his throat.
    He made careful movements
    with his hands. Played a cloud study of water vapour gospel with

his guitar. I was

    composed when it came to
    printing it on my winter bodies and subconscious.
    Now his mouth is alien to me.
    Reserved for toasted cheese and
nightfall’s idiosyncratic gangs of ballet. I am still traumatised
    by the hospital experience.
    Stigma. The scholarship and foreign
tigers with dirty paws that I found there.

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