Things are broken. A surreal night. I am very busy days, but now it is dark. Short sentences and wandering eyes against the wall. In the morning, there will be light and later, waking, but now there is only thinking and breathing. The veins on my hand are visible and I am watching them. I will be going back to Los Angeles and San Francisco sometime in August, cash permitting. There are few things so useless as wasted time. Bury me deeply and sing. Got to pay the taxman. Now, I’m smiling.
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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.)