Schulz dies suddenly on the last day of his strip and I’m totally broken up about it. And tomorrow will be my first St. Valentine’s day alone in a very long time, and I’m broken up about that, too. I’d better watch it, or I’ll be descending into depressed idleness yet again. Meanwhile, time to see if I can start work on another book.
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§ As you get older, the ghosts become more real than anything else.
§ Under the leaves, soil. Under the soil, stone. Under the stone, souls.
§ Radically empowering individuals in society may be the worst mistake we ever made.
§ Want to be a radical? Refuse to suffer. Then, wait for the assault.
§ Goodbye 2017, part two. (The real part.)
§ Sometimes you find home where you’ve never been—and you dwell where you aren’t.
§ The self can’t play Atlas for postmodernity because science is now supernatural.
§ Rehab is universal. So is history.
§ Identity, transcendence, and tactics.
§ Untitled. (a.k.a. Pretty faces, new old photos.)