This must be generally the time of year where my mind turns to thinking about weirdos and especially misfits.

It’s the time of year I make my annual resolution to be weirder, more eccentric.

I don’t even want a perfect body, just a perfect soul.

Maybe I also resolve to listen to more Prince, more Radiohead.

My wild dream this year is to write more like Clarice Lispector. From A Breath of Life:

“I shall write here toward the air and responding to nothing because I am free. I — I who exist. There’s a voluptuousness in being someone. I am no longer silence.”

And,

“I write to you so that beyond the intimate surface on which we live you might come to know my prolonged howl of a wolf in the mountains.
I distilled myself entire: I’m clean like rainwater.
Quint-essence.
Tranfiguration.
Let the author beware of popularity; otherwise she will be defeated by success. There is a time when you must take a picture of yourself. Hunger is always the same as the first hunger.
The need renews itself empty and entire.”

So, here’s to hunger, to being weird and unpopular, to the prolonged howl. I will meet you in the mountains.