It started when I purchased a passport size brown leather Midori from a shop in San Francisco in September of 2015. The blank pages inside were cream, and without line. I might have sketched an outline of the ferry building along the embarcadero or jotted down the neighborhoods I wanted to visit with my daughter who was traveling with me. Instead, I ordered a coffee at a small cafe off Market, and in the midst of honking and skateboarding and walking dogs and barking pedestrians, I found myself writing a few thoughts down, a diamond to mark the end of each.
Not complete thoughts. Certainly not essays. I did not set out to write poetry. Nor did I aspire to philosophy. I simply recorded my musings, about whatever came to mind. And many months later, after filling one notebook, and then another, and another still, I realized I didn’t have a single idea as to what it was I had been writing.
If I were to ever share any of these thoughts, how would I describe their genre? Some leaned poetical, more rhythmic in nature, though I have never studied poetry and feel ill equipped to make a definition, and still less certain of my willingness to call anything I create poetical. But to call all of these thoughts philosophy or essay was similarly without fit to those that seemed more desirous of embracing the beauty of language and the pleasure of veiled meaning. Verse, prose, composition, expose— nothing quite fit.
Until I stumbled on the word reverie.
Reverie is a day dream. A musing. A single thought. This described, better than any other word, the scribbles I’d been jotting down. So I decided, upon accepting the inner call to send forth what follows into the wild, that these musings must be known as reverie.
Thus begins this first volume of revery by Justin Blaney, containing the first 100.
Published by Inkliss
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