an internet home to the writing (and maybe some other created things) of Joshua Robert Long
"I don’t know who I am anymore. Between fifty hours and two times six on the road on top of it, maybe I’m Neglect, or his cousin. The one who always brings the burnt pasta. Maybe they see that as I sit down at the table and the bread is broken. Maybe it was already broken because I’m always late. Whatever it is or whoever I am, I get close to getting it back, and then the pulls and the pills just take it away. But the roar, the roar is there, even behind closed doors. Even when the faces at the table talk through me, or move to other walls to hide behind their sins or their masturbations of betterment."